


Hatred's Mirror (An Octavian story [pjo])

by DanySilver



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: A wolf to man, Backstory, Bitterness, Brat, Camp Jupiter, Creation, Curses, Destiny, Evil, Fate, From the very beginning, Gen, Gods, Hate to Love, Hatred, How to create a monster, Inevitable, Learning to just help yourself, Loses a lot, Morae, Not Canon Compliant - The Blood of Olympus, OC, Octavian - Freeform, Octavian lovers, Octavian teddy bear killer, Post-Gaea, Post-The Blood of Olympus, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Saturn - Freeform, Selfish, There always needs to be a hero, There will always be a villain, Thread of fate, Time - Freeform, Underworld, Villainy, falls in love, fighting fate, life story, little shit, mirror, percy jackson - Freeform, roman - Freeform, why he got so mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 63,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanySilver/pseuds/DanySilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>• Percy Jackson AU •</p><p> </p><p>        In a world ruled by Fate and the Moirai, a god who casts away his Oath in favor of fame leaves a boy no other choice but to fulfill his own Curse and call upon darker, older power, to right his wrongly altered Destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DESTINY'S IRON BOND

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfiction about Octavian, so if you don't like the character, obviously don't comment un-constructive criticism (even worse: hate).

_—————————————————————————————-_

_Author's Note [INTRO]:_  

_Okay, this is just the story of Octavian [a character of Rick Riordan's] as he grew up. Nothing really fancy. Friendship. Betrayal. Bloodshed. The works._

_Other than that, I do not think that this story will go into like R-rated stuff, years 15 and up most likely._

_I hope you enjoy what I write, and this is my first story, so go easy on the criticism. And yes, this is a very far-fetched story, please stay with here on this one, promise it will get better (Might change a couple things ;P)!_

_ It's about time the Romans get their version of events. _

—————————————————————————————-

 

**_CHAPTER 01: PROLOGUE_ **

 

 

"No."

"But—!"

"No buts. There will be no more discussion about this! Am I clear, boy?" The image of a man yelling at a child, trying not to flinch under his unforgiving gaze, was left seared in that boy's memory, and would play over and over and over again in later years.

Rewinding in some way or another, fuzzing and buzzing in a static blue void, the audio scratchy as the words that were said previously echoed violently in murmurs. It blinked on a wide screen.

_Pause._

_—Click—_

It played out once more.

The images succumbing to motion, and the voices lagging behind the blurry figure of an adult throwing his hands wildly-- angrily-- at the blond boy. He was at this man's mercy.

And who alone could this man be, but his father.

Strong, determined, accomplished... A walking epitome of a solider dad. An apple crumble without the sweet caramelized apple-- just the crumble (and that's just the effect he had on  _you_ ). The man went on, strands of his brown hair falling into his hard eyes, "A scrawny thing like you, heading for a position like that? It's not only deplorable, it's  _suicide_!"

He glared down at the blonde with hellish sincerity, "Your mother has embarrassed us enough..." Blue eyes widened slowly.

_My mother? An embarrassment...?_

_He couldn't have just said that._

The unwavering depth of the man's brown eyes assured him: He did. "...I will not have you tainting our name any further." With those last sharp words, the man shunned him. His cold shoulder pierced both of them, a dagger of ice that would spread to their veins. And overtime:

Their throbbing hearts.

The man swallowed back the hesitation and shouldered strength to veil the sudden weakness he felt as he disappeared into the house, leaving the lanky little boy outside in the chilled night. So in the dimly lit shadows, a child was left alone.

Again.

Panic sat in his throat as the black and cold seem to envelope him, as if to cradle him. The earth stirred underneath his feet. He was seeing things again, and it scared him.

So he ran.

Sprinting into the streets he found the older cobble-stone roads and followed them; the air screaming in his ears as the stores, the homes, the trees, the scattered groups of people, whizzed past him. He didn't care where those roads took him. He could find his way back. He always did, unfortunately.

The patter of little footsteps echoed off the tall walls of the buildings, making stray cats scamper away into the shadows and dogs nearby bark. Passing some old stone statues (dampened by years of Summer rain), an old fountain and combing through the small forest of tall pine trees, he found the place.

The Jupiter Optimus Maximus and all its roman architecture: pillars, arches, doorways and all, stood tall and proud. Overlooking the city from the hill where it sat, it had an amazing view. All the lights clustered together like a nebula of homes, their brilliance rivaled that of the actual stars that stared down from the inky blackness above.

The scene made the corners of the boy's lips twitch up, "You all sleep well, I guess..."

As he sat down in the grass, he looked up at the black expanse of the world above, dusted with silver specks and a deep blue so mesmerizing it made his head spin. All this silence didn't bother him though. It was never  _truly_   silence, there were birds after all. Always.

A tweet and a soft chirp here and there usually made their presence known. Pressing his lips together he'd whistle too, often in reply, or often to just whistle... But nowadays, he rarely had the energy to do so.

Seldom did he have it in him to even try.

His eyes shot up to the sky when he saw a hot white dash across the black, only to fall on the opposite end of the city and disappear under the horizon. His own tears blurred his vision, "My mother has done nothing wrong. I have done nothing wrong. And yet...?"

He laughed, "If I was much worse, none of you would be  _alive!"_  The boy closed his eyes to regain his composure, and after five minutes he spoke again, "I've made a promise," his hand made a fist at the sky, "And I'm going to keep it." With those final words he got up and made his way into the temple.

Grass blades clung to his short blonde hair.

 

***

Immediately after entering, the boy felt queasy. He didn't think anyone was inside at this hour. There wasn't even smoke leaving the pillar-of-a-chimney that signified offerings being burnt. Not a cloud in the barren night sky either.

I can imagine you could picture the look on his face. The boy. His blue eyes jittering around before trying to compose themselves.

_What was he doing here? This isn't a place to hang around in, the gods are watching for goodness sakes!_

A young man with curly brown hair, tied up in a bun, looked up and smiled, his honey brown eyes glowed with the light of the lowed flames as they slowly ate away at the offering, "I thought your father said you weren't coming." His crackly voice masked the depth of curiosity in his eyes, though the dancing red light warped that curiosity into a malevolent intrigue. As if he were pretending to sound like  _Dracula_.

The boy tried to ignore it.

"He is not my father, and never will be." The blond came closer, his chin raised indignantly,  to the Augur to watch what he was doing; the heavy warmth of the fire pulling him closer. White cotton— or maybe it was stuffing?— was curling slowly and cracking with a loud  _pop_  as the flames licked and devoured them, melting the fluff into crackling black tar.

The young man, in response to each loud noise and unnatural curling of the burning cotton, nodded and hummed to himself in deep contemplation. After some silence he pursed his lips and looked down at the shy blond.

"Thanks... for teaching me, Sir..." His small voice competed with the constant grumblings of the fire that leaped and twirled wildly in anticipation of a next victim. The next sacrifice.

The fire suddenly crackled and spat embers furiously, making the boy jolt, he looked up, alarmed by the loud noise (he didn't know Augury was so loud), and the Augur snickered, his amusement glowing through his teeth.

The brunet patted the boy's head, "No prob." Then he wrinkled his nose slightly, "And call me Milo. Sir is what I'd call my dad, you know..." When the child didn't respond he cleared his throat, but just when the blond thought he was going to get serious, Milo pulled a grin, "Oh, and I suppose... you want me to call you by your first name, correct?"

"Yes. Call me... Octavian."

Milo nodded and began to teach the boy the  _Art of Sacrifice_ ,  _Keeping the Flame_  and  _The Signs_ , the ones that reflected the gods' answers, and or wills.

"And then you can add coal, or oil... I think that the coarseness of the stuffing will affect the level of interference... Sometimes the words are... Oh, and before I forget," The strange young man rambled on, "They usually answer you if you keep an empty mind... "

"Who?" Octavian asked.

"The gods..." Milo answered and then continued the lesson, motioning to the alter and saying something about sponge cake not making good cleaning scrubs.  _(Were you even allowed to eat in here?)_

"If only I believed that they would..." The boy mumbled softly.

***

 

"Okay. You'll have to sneak in here  _every_  morning. Early too! ...And in the evening, and in the night... You sure you can you handle that, lil' man? I mean it's a  _big_  responsibility, I'll understand if you want to do it when your a little older, I—" Milo's rambling was interrupted by a the boy's small chuckle.

"Just make sure you arrive early, Milo." The Augur looked surprised and then laughed again— to the boy's slight annoyance— and patted Octavian on the back hard enough to make him lose balance.

"You've got moxy, huh?" Suddenly the guy slapped his forehead with his hand, making Octavian jolt when he was fixing his small toga. "Oh, and I almost forgot! You need to swear in."

"Don't I need to do this in front of the council?" Milo shrugged and the boy had a feeling he was withholding information on purpose. For what reason, he couldn't guess.

"The council stopped listening to The Augury Rights To Passage speech long ago... It's fine." He insisted, "Just say it to me. I'll be your, uh— council." The boy smiled as if this was perfectly normal and up to code.

Octavian fidgeted and couldn't speak. Looking up he noticed that Milo seemed worried, "I-I'll start now...!" He took a deep breath. There was no turning back. "I promise to hold on to all the rules and regulations that were set in place to protect and inspire discipline in the city of New Rome.

"A city founded by unwavering determination, faith and strength. A city that signifies hope in those who've lost it. A city..." Octavian paused. He decided that if he was going to devote whatever time he had left to his plan, then he might as well do something he actually wanted to do now.

He made the speech short and ended it the way he always thought it should have ended, "A city whose streets and walls were built to be a home."

Blue eyes, clear-cut and wily looked up to meet patient brown ones, "I swear under the sight of Jupiter that I  _will_  protect this city, its people and what it stands for. For as long as I do so live."

Milo was silent for a while, his face didn't show anything. No approval, no disapproval, nothing. And for a brief moment Octavian thought he had ruined everything. His bottom lip quivered but he bit it down once the brunette sat up and smiled.

"I like it." That smile stretched into a grin and resulted in one of those crazed laughs that was usually riddled with snorts, "Actually, I love it! Maybe you  _should_  have spoken to the council after all..." His smile sobered and shrunk as he regarded Octavian again after a few minutes of silence, "Maybe your speech would have made them take Augury seriously again..."

"You spoke with such  _power!_ Such  _strife_!" Milo outstretched his arms and spoke like you'd probably expect an actor to do on stage.

Octavian held his face and sighed mentally. If this eccentric young man was to be his mentor, he was going to apply for another. That dramatic commentary on his successful delivery of the speech was over the top. Not to mention, embarrassing.

Milo's dark skin seemed to glow, even after leaving the alter fire, and that made the boy curious. That was cut short when the young man leaned forward suddenly and whispered jokingly, "You sure you don't want to be Praetor?" When Octavian remained solemn the older boy just snickered.

Milo got up and clapped Octavian's back ( _again_ )as if to say well done, "Alright, I'll see you when I'll see you, kid." It took about five seconds for the blond to realize something.

He was abruptly ending the meeting.

_What about the schedule? The requirements? At least tell me more about what you expect me to be doing the next 3 years I'll be serving you, damn it!_

Blue eyes watched in utter dis-belief as the young man sauntered down the hill's pathway, whistling a jazzed up version of  _Frère Jacques_ and soon disappearing down the lamp-lit streets.

"Out of sight, out of mind." The boy calmed himself.

There was nothing but change that was coming, and he refused to be left in the dark, or more accurately, thrown away, while the rest of the world moved on. Erased from history.

"... Milo... you have no idea..." Octavian stared at his small hands. He had already managed to burn them. Blisters, both big and small, polka-dotted his arms and palms. The glowing hot pain was gone, but as soon as his numbing fingers curled, it was back in seconds.

'Hopefully', he thought, 'they will leave me alone for the rest of the week'; his cousins were always in his business and it annoyed him to the point where he thought it would be better that he just lived in the forest. His 'father' would probably be happier if he did.

Heading home was the longest walk he ever had. And it felt great. It felt like... progress.

 

However, progress, like hope, it is not built in a day. It is  _time_  that builds and grows progress like the great forests. And all great forest start with  _one_  tree.

 _One_  story.

 

—————————————————————————————

[ Hey guys, what do you think about the opening? I had this question in my mind while I was writing this, and I wanted to ask you guys something.

|"What is the job of a father to you?"| ]

I leave you with this quote (that I may or may not have searched for on google... XD):

_"Listen, there is no way any true man is going to let children live around him in his home and not discipline and teach, fight and mold them until they know all he knows. His goal is to make them better than he is. Being their friend is a distant second to this." ~ Victor Devlin_

**Don't forget to vote and comment! ;3**

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	2. NIGHT SHALL BURN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> "Sometimes you need to go to the very beginning, to find out why it all end." ~Anonymous  
> \--

 

_____________________________________________________________

**_Author's Note_ **

Hey guys, so here's where the far-fetched ideas come in, like I said, just roll with it, everything will be explained!  
And as usual, I hope you enjoy this chapter XD

 _"When we don't know who to hate, we hate ourselves."  
_ _\-- Chuck Palahniuk_

**—————————————————————————————**

 

**CHAPTER 02: NIGHT SHALL BURN**

 

 

There was a silence.

Peace reigned in the Arabian night, as nothing stirred in the houses in the north. Even the ocean of sand that carried on into the distant lands, purple and silver under the moonlight, rested under hushed tones; their soft peaks the playground for the warm summer winds.

It was they that made the usual cold nights bearable.

They danced in the empty dirt streets and whisked the scent of fresh bread and familiar spices into the boy's face. Cinnamon, vanilla bean, earthy cocoa, and his favorite, freshly ground nutmeg, all shared their light powdery fragrance in the cool night.

The open window's curtains twirled and undulated quietly in the breeze and a blonde boy looked out as if he could see the lands that his mother told him about. As if he could see past the miles and miles of sand that trapped him here.

She was there, sleeping; buried under the large and heavy wool covers. The boy smiled as he heard her soft mumbling.

There was nothing to do now, nearly everyone was a asleep. And those who weren't did not want to be stuck baby-sitting at this time of hour. For them, the night was a time for the celebration of the naked flesh-- Octavian thought adults reveled in this celebration much too loudly-- behind closed doors.

Sometimes his mother would shout at him. She didn't understand why he stayed up late into the night, 'looking for things that are not there' ...

'That were never there...'

Actually, she didn't understand why he stayed up late at all. He remembered one time she actually compared him to that weird creature...

_"You are like those birds..." she shook her head, "they circle the skies and call out in a soft voice to one another... their eyes as wide as saucers as they look to the ground. For what?-- I could never tell..."_

He was just about to go back to the warm pile of sheets when he heard a sound. No. Not just any sound, a cry, sharp and loud in the clear air.

Poking his head out of the large window, he looked out and about to find its origins. A dog scampered off into the streets frantically, as it almost runs straight into a group of men who were preparing clothing and spices and goods to sell in the morning, it darted through legs and jumped overturned baskets. Until it dashed to and fro and finally disappeared into the shadows.

The men's laughter echoed as they packed up their things. Nothing else stirred in the night. "My love? What are you doing?" The boy jumped, startled by the sudden attention. "Come back to bed." A tired voice called out from behind him. As he turned he saw his mother, her black hair falling lusciously down her shoulder and her bright honey brown eyes staring back at him with stern impatience.

"I am sorry, mama," he shuffled back and extinguished the fire with a shower of water from the jug sitting on the small table next to him. The flames died with a rebellious hiss, cascading the room into darkness; relinquishing its warm orange glow to the moon's silver as it poured through the open window and tinted everything in a faint ghostly white.

The mud walls seemed larger, less like prison walls. "I was just... outing the fire..." His mother did not buy this explanation of course, she raised a brow, a smile soon spreading across her full lips. Octavian was just happy she seemed amused. Usually she got upset.

"Yes, like you  _should_  have done over an hour ago," she motioned for him to come,"By letting the flames burn, you waste the candle..." Scratching her scalp she squinted as her eyes adjusted, her nose wrinkled, almost in annoyance, "And they're getting more and more expensive these days," she sighed.

Strolling over, he climbed into bed and looked up at the woman whose acceptance meant everything to him. She had skin that always reminded him of the cinnamon sticks that was often sold in the market-- while his skin was pale... like paper... 'Sickly', if he were to describe it the way the villagers do. The only difference was that she often smelled of nutmeg and a number of sweet spices.

It was because of her job.

He didn't ask about it and they never talked about it.

Whenever she dressed in her red satin, be-jeweled her black hair and adorned herself with perfumes, no one said anything; she just kissed his head and told him sternly to be careful and to always: stay in the house.

Then she was off for the whole day.

 _Now,_  she dressed in a pale shirt and some baggy pants,  _now_  she wasn't just a strange beautiful woman-- she was his mother-- and it was  _now,_  as she stroked his cheek and placed kisses on his face, that he felt like he was really loved.

She let him into the layered blanket to escape the chill of the night and pulling him closer she hugged him tightly. Inhaling deeply she looked into his face and kissed him. She gazed out the window, then, for a while, she paused. Her finger to her lips while she eyed the mud ledge of the window. The curtains fluttered softly. Finally her warm eyes were looking at his icy blue ones, "I heard a noise..."

"I did too!" The child wiggled his toes.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, making her laugh, "You haven't done this since you were small... Are you scared?" The boy hid a smile and tried not to giggle.

He knew what was coming next, but he feigned ignorance and shook his head ruefully. "No? I thought I heard... a monster...!" The boy disappeared under the sheets and his mother followed him under; they immersed themselves in the warmth as if it was a world different from the one just outside the thick brown blanket, his mother hushed his insatiable laughter, her slender finger to her lips again, "I think I heard him..."

"Where?" The blonde's blue eyes grew wide as the woman peeked out of the barrier between their world and the next, scanning the room. He occupied himself with straining out the random barks, boisterous laughter of venders, clanking of wood and the quick shuffle of feet in cool sand that were strung deeply within the silence.

"Here!" She started tickling him mercilessly. The boy squirmed as his mother playfully blew on his belly, with his pale face red with laughter he managed to get the upper hand and started tickling his mother back, they played underneath the sheets, wriggling and wrestling until they both were exhausted and giggle-happy.

The woman ran her hand through her son's hair; she often described it as the color of the fur of barley whenever the sun ripened it. It was golden but with whitened edges. "Please do not go near the windows at night," the boy frowned. "Pleeeease?" His mother batted her eyelashes and pouted but he didn't laugh like he usually did, instead he sniffled as a ball formed at the back of his throat, choking him as the tears filled his eyes to the brim.

The mother cooed and hushed and comforted, and the little boy, resting his head in his mother's chest, felt the warmth and sincerity from the vibrations that echoed from her chest. She squeezed him in another hug, as if by transference, the pain would seep into her.

The woman braced herself for the question.

"Why?" His little voice cracked, he could no longer keep his reserve and broke, "Why, mama? why can't I go outside and play in the day?" He was tired of sneaking around like he was a criminal, he had tried his best when he was younger to stay inside, but everything seemed too... empty.

So unforgivingly similar.

What was he supposed to do? The excitement was right outside. Vendors were hollering and children romping in the market a few streets down, and the wind carried the sound of their folly to him. Mocked him.

So he'd put on his cloak, slowly peek out the door and escape into the morning, where the day seemed much more free. Where he himself felt free.

And now, as he thought about what his mother said when he asked again if Uncle Ammar and Aunty Ghada could take him to the market today, he cried. She had been furious.

 _'They weren't even family, strangers may love you all they want, but if danger comes stalking they'd save their kids. Not you. They take care of themselves, Octavian. Not you_.' That's what she said, and he knew it was true, but he couldn't help but think how unfair it was.

She held his shaking figure as he controlled himself-- like she taught him-- breathing heavily and limiting himself to shorter sobs, then to sniffles. Soon he was silent, staring blankly into space while he was comforted by his mother, soothingly rubbing his back.

He felt pathetic.

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry, my little baby..." She wanted to cry too but she knew that more tears would not solve anything. She had to be strong, so he could be too. Her sleepless nights weighed down on her appearance, and that was affecting her... clients.

All the rumors circulating through the streets scared her. As if she needed any more reason to be... Black omens were becoming more and more frequent. A young child of ashen skin and pale eyes was not something to be welcomed.

At a time like this, that child, it would be held in suspicion. As an object of dark magic... A walking scapegoat to slaughter. "I-It is very dangerous for you outside..." the mother explained, "... My people... they are not as accepting as I wished," she kissed his forehead and he sniffled again, almost in response.

Eventually they smiled at each other, "But never mind that, my dear." She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and smiled coyly, "There are things that I should have explained to you long ago, you are my special little boy, but I never told you  _how_  special..." Maybe this would take his mind off not being able to go outside.

After all, there was a fondness for fables with such similar dilemmas elsewhere in the world. Women who had come across certain men of a... Higher status. Who wouldn't be, at the very least, a little bit intrigued. And, Octavian was a very practical child anyway.

He might not even believe it.

His blue eyes, alien to her for more than half the years she had raised him, caught her own, "...Am I... so immensely special that you will not punish me for looking out the window...?" He pulled a hopeful grin.

She chuckled, "Not even close." The boy sighed but listened to his mother, "Your father was a foreigner..." she raised a brow, "and do not give me that look, I know you know he was a foreigner-"

"Was he pale like me, mama?... Did he have light hair and blue eyes? Where was he from-"

"My love, he was  _gorgeous,_  his hair was brown but it was as if the sun kissed the edges and turned them gold. He had the most beautiful eyes... they were so warm and mischievous," she bit her lip, "and his lips-"

"Ewww!" She laughed and hugged the boy, who had covered his ears when he heard where this conversation was going. He spoke eventually, "Do I look like him...?"

"Your eyes." Cool fingers ran across his cheeks, her thumb stroking under his eyes gently as her large hand held the small boy's face, "Both of your eyes looked-"

"Blue?"

"Yes..." Her smiled faded, "...and old." The boy's brows curved in confusion, but before he could ask any more questions, the night air erupted with screams. The sound of pottery shattering, doors being pounded on and men shouting made both of them shoot out of bed.

The mother raced to the window- she was first- and peeked outside. And there it was: three houses down- two houses down- one house to go. The roaring inferno of blinding orange and red ate away at the houses a few paces down the street. Like an enraged dragon, the flames howled into the night, burning it away, making the shadows leap and scatter as the fire whipped at them in furiously. Smoke rose in the air like ghostly tendrils, reaching up first in wisps that reflected the moon's eerie silver and then in billows.

Octavian whimpered, he saw something. Something  _strange._  Within the black billows of smoke and ash, faces moaned and screamed, their faces stretched in a torturous manner. The hollow sockets of their eyes seemed to look straight at him. Straight through him.

 _Into_  him.

The face swallowed itself and was hidden by other towers of the thick grey. Embers and ash rained down to meet the muddied ground where women and children were now running.

They all scattered, like ants, their path was erratic. Fear took hold of the boy so he looked up at his mom, his heart beating like a rabbit's in his small chest and his mind became watery and dizzy. He was waiting for her to say something. Anything: She suddenly covered her mouth in shock and jumped back from the window.

The world was on fire.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

_[ **Question of the week:** "  
Is it worse to be burned alive, or to drown?"]_

 

_The Quote of the Day:_

_"You know you're free when neither the gods nor can the Sands of Time hold you... Freedom calls for you by name..." ~ Anonymous_

**Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to vote and comment! ;3**

**————————————————————————————————-**


	3. NIGHT SHALL BURN [Part 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> "When the Fire spreads.  
> It'll spread to your veins..."  
> \--

**CHAPTER 02: NIGHT SHALL BURN [Part 2]**

 

 

The bright orange light blaring from the flames into the window flashed madly unto his mother's numbed face. 

"What do we--"

"Shh!" The boy's lip quivered, he didn't understand. The noises grew louder and louder. His mother skirted around him, "Put on your clothes. Now!" she hissed her commands and he obeyed. When he came back he found her frantically shoving some things into a satchel, she snatched some money off the table, a goat-skinned canteen, a few cherries, loaves of bread and hard cheese. "Come with me and do not make a sound understand?"

He watched, frozen to the spot, as she tore away the sheets they once played in, flinging them aside, and took a necklace and shoved it in her pocket. Then she took his hand and lead, or half dragged, him out the door. As she passed worried neighbors she whispered something to them, and a grave look appeared on their faces before they disappeared into their rooms.

As the boy ran with his mother passed their doors he could hear the commotion, quarreling and the sound of things being thrown around in haste. He recognized Uncle Ammar and Aunty Ghada's voices. They were arguing about leaving earlier. They had been too late.

Too late for what?

Making their way to the back of the house, and away from the burning glare of the fire, his mother turned around, "Baby, we have to run really far, do not let go of my hand." She pulled the hood down over his and her face and her hand squeezed his. As she opened the door of the mud building- their home- the chaos began.

"Mama-!", his cry was interrupted by screams much louder than his own, the fire's heat burned his cheeks despite being so far. Singing the hairs on their necks. People pushed each other out of their way as they all ran in different directions; his mother turned around and made a run for it, small feet scampered after her own.

Men that ran with weapons passed by them, calling out to other men and giving them weapons. Blues eyes gazed back in horror as the fire spread and burned the building they were just in, the sound of metal clashing and pained shrieks coming from the corner they just avoided made him run even faster.

The air was thick with smoke and ash and filled with yelling and screaming, he could barely hear his mother's voice telling him to run faster.

Run faster?

How could his little legs move any faster, his lungs were burning, his throat tired of the dry air and ready to make him vomit; the stinging embers floated and attacked his skin. He pushed on, for the fear of losing his mother in the ever growing sound of war gave him an adrenaline rush and a light-headedness.

"We are almost there, my love, we-", she skidded to a halt as men, women, and children, some of them nobles, others street beggars that he often saw every day in the market. They all ran passed them and pushed them aside. He lost grip and screamed for his mother with the little air he could force into his lungs. He lost sight of her in the crowd, it was like they engulfed him, pulled him deeper and deeper. He couldn't even hear her.

He was alone in that ocean of people, they all pulled him deeper and deeper into the thick of it. Waves upon waves of bodies swirled past him; his voice like a drop of blood in a churning sea.

"Mum...?"

Panic set in and he couldn't move, all the people around him swarmed in different directions, it was then a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. A harsh slap ricocheted off his cheek and he fell on his butt. The predators had arrived, it seemed. He was in shock as he stared at the ground, tears rolling down the tender spot. He looked up and saw strange men wearing an armor that he did not recognize. 'Had he bumped into them?' he thought as he rushed to get back to his feet.

They spoke in a strange language too, laughing and jeering at him. One of the men, the one that hit him, pointed to the boy and laughed, he grabbed his neck and thrashed him around like a rag doll. The more he cried the more he was knocked around, so he stopped. He closed his eyes and took his knee and rammed it into the man's crutch.

The man bent over and lost grip of the boy, the others glared at him and with their swords in hand they advanced. There was only one that just stood there, his helmet casting shadows over his eyes.

His head jolted back as the soldier took hold of his hair, preventing him from running; there was no mercy in his cruel eyes, only a toothy grin as he yanked the child's hair up, lifted his squirming body off the ground, and watched him struggle and claw at his hands, desperate for his feet to touch the ground.

He whispered something to the blonde boy that he didn't understand and began to raise his sword. Red metal shone as the bloody sword reflected the hunger of the fire as it burned through the neighborhood. Even though people were running. His people. No one stopped to help him. He whimpered and screamed for help but to no avail.

The sword swung deep but only cut his arm. A force made the boy and the soldier fly back. It was his mother. She punched the man in the jaw, took his sword and shielded her injured son. What could they do? Large burly men, with faces veiled in metal, were surrounding them. All of a sudden a building collapsed, the mud bricks fell in large chunks, smashing unto the ground and sending pebbles and rocks flying.

The fire had found them again, curling back and roaring triumphantly it descended upon them. If they had remained there a second later it would have devoured everyone. Dust rained down and blinded Octavian and the soldiers. The burning splinters of a collapsed beam turned into floating daggers. The mother scooped her son up and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Up the street, through a building, across the deserted old well, and finally down into the market place, where the streets were too thin for even a horse to travel through.

It wound deep into the older parts of the city and created nooks for crooks to nest, but now the nests were empty and filled with twilight and scampering silhouettes. When she stopped, she hid in a nook under a mud hut. She used palm leaves and covered the hole. Her eyes found the frightened blue ones of her little boy and she pulled him close once more.

War and bloodshed would reign the night, and they would claim this city, and shout its terrible call. Not even the cramped dark hole they scrambled into would be safe.

"Mama... what's happening...?" His mother was stroking the places where he had gotten hit fervently, and held him tightly whenever she head footsteps or voices.

"My son, do not speak... Not a word until we are out of the city..." Peeking out of the hole she removed the leaves and pulled her son out. They started to run again, but this time they used the shadows. They were on the opposite side of the fire now and its blazing light could not penetrate the cool shadows from that far away. Surprisingly, it never grew quiet. There would always be a loud, probably someone's last, scream or the sound of buildings collapsing that rose above the rest of the muffled turmoil. Soon they were the only ones that were on the dirt street.

The boy was alert, his eyes darting everywhere and his hand clutching unto his mother's; he could feel her shaking as they hurried along the alley. And then they stopped. Dead center of a street. "Shh, shh... it is okay..." His mother comforted him as a man emerged from the darkness, she nodded and he came forward, two horses' reigns in hand. Clicking on the hard ground as the horses came closer they snorted and bobbed their dark heads up and down. His mother pulled out the necklace and handed it to him.

A quick exchange- if the child blinked he would have missed it- and then they were on the horse. His mother behind him and holding the reigns and the man saddled on the other horse, with one click and a slap of the leather the horses gave way to a gallop. Their powerful legs surging through the streets as they drew further and further away from the foreign soldiers and phantom screams that spooked them so easily.

They were a good distance from the city now and the silence was getting too hard to bear, it was because no one knew what to say. The gloom sat heavily on everyone's spirits. "Mama, where are we going?" The horses slowed to a trot and then to a walk, the vast sand-scape enveloped the entire horizon, waves shaped by the winds rumored to be harsh enough to rip skin off bone swirled and joined with others.

The boy couldn't tell where one dune started and where one dune ended. "Mama... Mama, look..." He had glanced back and saw it. The small flame. That small flame flickered and seemed to devour everything. That small flame was in fact the start of the end of the city. The silence this time, was scary. It was empty and devoid of life besides the ones of two other people and horses that dug their hooves in the sand occasionally.

"Come, we must leave now or we will be caught." The man spoke to his mother, whose eyes glistened with tears, as she blinked them away she made the horse turn around and start another gallop, away from their home and into the night.

|***|

"Octavian?" A voice penetrated his dreamless sleep, "Octavian, wake up, my love..." his eyelids slid open to reveal red eyes. He was crying last night, the realization of what he just witnesses had hit him like a ton of bricks; as he got up, he flinched at the shearing pain that erupted from his back and leg, he moaned, "I know sweetheart, I know..." his mother had some water and a wet rag that she wiped his forehead with, but it didn't really help.

They were in tent now, the sun's heat managing to penetrate even the animal skin lining; mutters and the shuffling of feet came from outside, Octavian shifted, sitting up as he tried to shake off his exhaustion. "Here," his mother put a flat bowl to his lips and he drank.

It was a sweet white liquid. He would have mistaken it for milk if it weren't for the sweet nutty taste, "We are safe now, so you may rest, I only wanted you to drink this." The boy shook his head and as he rubbed his eyes everything became clearer. Only a diluted echo of the nightmare remained, but even that began to fade.

Groggily he looked up, "Mama..." he didn't know what to say, so his mother laid him down to sleep, letting him use her arm as a pillow. There were like that for a long time until the boy became restless. He couldn't sleep. "... Mama?"

She responded with an unflattering grunt and he swallowed a laugh. If she was tired too, then he really shouldn't be talking to her... And yet, this hyper-activeness took hold of him. He fidgeted with his fingers and then drummed on the floor of the tent. He could have sworn he felt something move in the sand just underneath the animal hide that made the floor.

His mother sighed and he froze as she rolled on her side to look at him. "Sorry..." He blushed.

"No, you say I am sorry," she gave a half smile, "But, do not worry, I knew you probably would not go back to sleep... You were always a busy little boy." She pinched his cheeks and smiled wider, "Are you nervous?" When he nodded she kissed his head softly, "What can I do to make you feel better?"

Octavian played with his mother's hair between his fingers as he pondered, "Can I..." he glanced up, "Can I hear about my father again?"

She bit down a smile. She had been hoping that he forgot about that. "Alright...Your father was a very funny man, he said really weird things sometimes... poems apparently..." Swallowing down the disgust and sadness she felt, she just came out and said it, "Octavian your father is Apollo. He is a sun god."

"..." the sounds of the men outside the tent working, some of them chatting idly, penetrated the tent's lining, the silence was unnerving for the woman as blue eyes stared at her, "Apollo is a strange name..." he began, "Just like my name! Is he from another country?" He looked up at his mother's face, it was laden with stress and exhaustion, "Mama, you go to sleep too." The boy was sure she stayed up all night.

His mother was just relieved that the boy didn't seem to understand. She let him interpret what he could from what she said, and from what he said, that wasn't very much. "I do not mind that at all..."

They rested together peacefully inside, only stirring from slumber once or twice as the man with the horses came in the check on them, each time Octavian's mother woke up immediately.

When the man left Octavian licked his dry lips, "Mama? Are you afraid?" Honey brown eyes gazed down at a little blonde boy.

"No," she smiled as her son kissed her cheek.

"Good, because neither am I." Octavian sat up and crossed his legs, "we should get something to eat."

"Right," the woman sat up and sighed, running her fingers through her messy black hair and scratching her scalp, "You have not eaten in a while." She got up and stretched, cracking her back, "Come, we can go see what they have to eat and drink." Octavian hopped to his feet, balancing as he noted that he was still wobbly, and followed his mother outside.

First came the blinding white, then came the heat, and then came the dryness. He wrapped his head with cloth and looked out at the vastness. Sand. Miles and miles of it stretched out for who knows how long.

As he took a deep breath a frown formed on the little boy's lips, looking up, straight into the sun as he always could he spoke in a steady, firm and meaningful voice. "I don't know if you can hear me... " he glanced at the figure of his mother asking for food from the man that helped them escape and then looked back up, "Or if you are real... but I hate you."

His small fists trembled by his side. "A god who lets this happen is not a god at all... Worst leaving your son, and the woman you bore a child with, in danger... Not sending a word of warning... I hate you, and from this day on, for as long as I live. I am not your son." With that felt his eyes start to burn and quickly covered them.

He was shaking, but he didn't know why. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't even happy. However, as Octavian stood there, looking at the caravan that he was travelling in and the expanse of golden sand, he felt, for once in his life. Like he belonged. And so he turned his back to the sun and walked on into the now awakening camp to find his mother, and hopefully some food too. He knew this journey was going to be a hard one, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't over yet.

|***|

An owl flew above, silent and large, it glided in the air, looking down with its saucer wide eyes; through the open space echoed the soft calls of a creature that wouldn't be answered now, but later. When the summer breeze no longer brings warmth to the east, but when the cold air is under its wing and the snowy trees are under its gaze. Then the answer will be there, and it will be a boy with eyes of skies that shall give it willingly.

 

 

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[ **This Week's Question:**

|"What do you think of this so far?"| ]

I really hope you guys liked this chapter (I also accidentally posted the next chapter, so whoops... XD And: SURPRIZE!)  
I can't wait to hear what you think ^^

**Thanks for reading, remember to like and comment if you liked this chapter!**

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	4. TWO GOLDEN MOONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavian's life gets a little complicated at times... Especially when he meets the creature with two golden moons for eyes.

**CHAPTER 03: TWO GOLDEN MOONS**

 

 

Dry and itchy air laid still in the barren sky. And for once the day was light as the sun's rays feathered about the land, the heat exhumed merciful habits and no longer sat heavily on your shoulder, but naturally, its presence was still a nuisance.

"You can never stop whining, even when you're satisfied..."mumbled the boy, his mother had said the very same words to him, back when they were living in the city. He had complained of being too hot when he, just a few hours ago, escaped a bone chilling night.

Now, that lively place was no more than a sad smudge in the sand. Skeletal buildings stood crippled and ready to crumble at a moment's glance. And even that too will be lost to him. That pitiful image of a lost echo of peace and daily-life, stripped bare and taken by winds unforgiving.

Splashes of cool water across naked skin ensured cold relief. From both the heat and the haunting memories.

Octavian knelt down in the white muddy bed of the oasis as the water lapped gently at his waist, the warm mud sucked on him as if to pull him in. After days of travel in dry sand, Octavian wouldn't mind being swallowed by mud. 

Looking up you could see how close the mountains were, he could see the peaks clearly this time. He could see them stretching far up like daggers to the vast blue above. He wondered if the moon was upset as she stared down at them, her faint figure a ghost even in the broad daylight.

 A loud splash snapped him back into the present, a small child had jumped into the oasis' deep end; a group of more children idly chatting and playing over on the bed saw the splash and started moving towards the water in growing interest.

The blonde watched them sadly as they stopped a far off from him, slouching he scolded himself, 'What was I thinking? That they'd walk over and suddenly be friendly...? Hey kid, want to come over and play with us? Yeah, _right_... ' His pale complexion in comparison to their dark tanned skin was alien. His cold pale eyes compared to their dark warm eyes, was alien.

He might as well have stamped 'Stranger-Danger' on his forehead. Even though there were some that were as lanky like him, he realized that they associated  _his_   skinny-ness with sickness. "Right, because I look sickly..."

Tired of thinking he dove down and let the waters cover him, shielding him from the sun. As he looked up, his eyes stung, but he endured, and as he reached the bottom of the small pond he witnesses something he never did before.

The sun's dazzling rays _dancing_   across the surface of the water.

He looked down at his hands, they were just pale blurs in his sight, but he could still recognize the lively waltz of fractal sunlight as the water's pulse matched his own heartbeat.

Cerulean waters were calm in the deep as he gazed up from underneath and felt how children's laughter, like aquatic whispers, tickled him teasingly just on the edge of his awareness.

Then, there was the joy of feeling like his lungs were about to explode. He rushed up to the surface and for a few desperate seconds he filled his starved lungs and coughed up water he accidentally sucked in from his nose. "Ugh... disgusting..."

" _Bleeccck_! What does it taste like?" Octavian spun around to his right and frowned. A boy with shockingly wide green eyes and a round little face had popped up beside him and was actually _talking_   to him.

Octavian opened his mouth but nothing came out, it was like he had poured honey down his throat and it trapped his voice. "What is wrong? Can you talk?" The boy seemed quite empathetic after that last question.

"N-no... I mean Yes, I can talk..." after some silence, avoiding eye contact, Octavian looked up to meet an expecting gaze.

And no personal space.

He waded away suddenly but the boy came closer. Laughter could be heard on the other side of the bank and the blonde froze, his cheeks burning red. Some girls pointed at him and giggled behind their hands.

"Oh no, you are sick..."

"No I am fine, what are you-" the boy's small hand rested on his forehead.

"You are red... I have not seen people like you before... do you get sick in the sun?" When that question gave way to full blown cackling from the children on the banks Octavian was going to give the boy a few choice words but then he saw him frown, "Raheem, he is sick, why is that funny!" The boy called back to an older child— a lot older than himself, Octavian realized.

"I'm not sick!" Again there was silence. He ruined it. Octavian bit his lip, "I am sorry, I did not—"

"You _ingrate_! How _dare_ you talk to my brother that way!" There was a tall young man, dark hair, commanding stature and a paralyzing gaze, he was ankle deep inside the water when he heard Octavian shout at his little brother. "Asha, come, we will leave this ghoul alone, just like he was before."

He spat his harsh words at Octavian, who just stood there and looked into space. This upset the little boy, or Asha, as he was called.

A pleading gaze lingered on Octavian, begging him to say something, anything; the sound of water swooshing around little feet as they walked away was the only thing that elicited a response from the pale boy.

And what did he do in response? The blond looked up gradually and watched as Asha and his brother Raheem romped somewhere else. The group's growing laughter playing on the occasional gust of wind. The water seemed to grow colder now that it was empty.

Octavian sank down into the water and let it engulf his body again. If only it would engulf his empty soul, at least then it would be filled with something other than sadness.

***

A few hours later the toil began. Octavian helped, like every other young boy strong enough, to pack and raise the tents. They seemed surprised that he could do manual labor. It was insulting, but Octavian held his tongue.

He wouldn't have admitted it readily, but the work was exhausting. It was like a never ending cycle. Pull, one, heave two. Pull, one, heave, two. Pull, one, heave-- A cry interrupted the routine. Octavian looked around, alert as ever as sweat, beading at his arched brow, traced his cheek and hung from his chin.

He recognized the sound. It was sharp and eerie as it fell to a soft murmuring echo on the wind. He avoided eye contact with the other boys who were dumbfounded as he skirted passed them; the children here all seemed to know each other and Octavian didn't feel like running into one of Raheem's friends. He had graduated from strange pale boy to strange _rude_ pale boy in one morning.

A few feet behind a cluster of tents there was a tent that had collapsed, and something was frantically thrashing around under the animal skin pelt. As he approached the gravel scraped and crunched underfoot, making him, and the animal inside, pause. It heard him.

Octavian slowly took one of the skeletal beams of the tent and slid it away from the entwined mass of cloth and wood, he did this also with the large beams and several blankets. Whatever was inside, it had wandered in and messed around with the support, making everything fall on top of it.

As he moved the last beam a sharp cry, more alert and threatening than before, jolted from the mass. Again Octavian paused, if he wasn't sure what animal this was, he was definitely sure now. He heard whispers behind him but didn't want to take his eyes off of the lump under the tent.

Suddenly the motionless bump in the dirty tent came alive and the creature scrambled forward, Octavian quickly dove into the tent and flung the tent off the animal, its wings spread as it flapped them loudly.

Its heavy elongated feathers fluttered down and the wet sand, that stuck to its body as it struggled, rained down as Octavian peered through squinted eyes up at the blindingly bright sky.

A dash across his plain of sight and he was up and running. The creature was an owl. A large, heavily feathered owl. It didn't even make it that far, the poor bird was floundering and flapping as hard as it could, but it was tangled in rope that was still attached to the support beams a few feet away.

It landed and snapped at the blonde, its golden saucer eyes, like daggers, pierced the heart and let the fear housed away once more bleed out of its prey.

Just one problem. Octavian was not prey.

The boy got down on his knees, and as carefully as he could he cut the rope and avoided the razor sharp talons that opened and closed menacingly whenever he got close. When he backed away Octavian was expecting the bird to fly away. Instead it stared at him and hooted as if expecting an answer. "I do not understand..."

 "You speak to birds too!" Octavian flinched, it was Asha. The little boy's eyes were as unnaturally wide and bright as before, but now they were excited, which only made Octavian more anxious.

 "No, I do not speak to birds..." Gold eyes drank in the blonde's lanky image as it waddled closer, spreading its wings for poise. It fell on its flat face with a muffled thud and Octavian sighed.

His feet shuffled as they slid over shifty sand; moving closer he started to wrap some cloth around his arm that he got from the mess the owl left behind in his attempt for a hasty retreat. He stuck his arm out and the owl stared at it, "Come on, are you not hungry?" The bird hooted again, at least this time it was more curious than hostile.

It allowed Octavian to brush his hand down its head and tummy, brushing off the sand and grit caking itself on its white and gold feathers. It hopped on to his arm eagerly and made itself comfortable, "You are a heavy one..." he huffed. As Octavian turned around Asha approached by tippy-toing. "As I guessed, he is most likely tame. Do you know anyone with an owl?" Asher shook his head.

 "No, I do not remember seeing a bird like this." His curly hair bounced as he ran around Octavian trying to look at the owl without it peeking back at him. "I cannot believe you tamed him!"

 "I did not tame-"

 "Raheem will never believe this! The rest are going to be so jealous!" He laughed and Octavian frowned.

 "Why would they be jealous? It is just a bird." The boy kept on talking about bragging rights and something about the leader being ecstatic, Octavian decided that as long as Asha was distracted and didn't look at him, he was going to be just fine.

The owl hooted softly as it began to pick at the protective cloth wrapped tightly around his arm, he scolded it, "No, do not do that... You will not get any food if you do that." The owl looked up at Octavian and hooted softly, complying, apparently, with Octavian's wishes.

 "I knew you could talk to birds!" Asha's excitement seemed to erupt from his tiny body, his high-pitched accusation carried on the windless air and reached ears of the children in the camp, they looked around and when they saw the pale lanky boy with the large owl perched on his arm they ran towards him. Octavian jolted as he realized that with all this attention, maybe silence and solitude wasn't so bad after all.

The kids were gathered around him, young, small, old, tall, they were all there tugging at his shirt and speaking so rapidly that the blonde's brain couldn't function. He heard Asha's voice above the crowd's own collective murmur, "Where did you learn to tame Great Sada!"

The children were silent. Their expectations radiated from their eyes slowly piercing his tired mind, his throat started to choke up, as if someone stuffed cotton down it. Blue eyes looked up and scanned the crowd of dusty kids, each having a different expression than the last, their eyes quickly losing their zeal, and their body's fidgeting after some time had passed.

 "I have heard that you fear... um, Al Sada... Where I come from it is feared as well..." Octavian tried not to be discouraged from talking as the kids pulled him forward, rushing him into camp.

They all sat down around him, a gazing maze of little eyes and prodding fingers surrounded him. Those that did not investigate were spectators to this novelty, Raheem was one of them, with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched with disgruntled eyes from the shade of a large tent, preferring instead to listen from a far.

Octavian felt a small hand touch his knee, glancing sideways he found the grinning face of Asha, and trying not to make it unnerve him, he began to speak, taking the tone that his mother always used whenever she was telling a story. He felt silly, but the children seemed interested enough.

"My people took arrows poisoned with bewitched men's fingernails," he got an 'ewww' from the crowd, laughter and wrinkled noses, and so Octavian continued, "they spoke of witches getting tired of the devil checking up on them in the form of the owl,"

 "Uwl...?" A little girl tried to pronounce the name and Octavian nodded.

"Yes, the one with eyes of moons and whispers soft calls to the dead. I have heard of the legends, but I did not believe them, so I ventured off to the burial grounds of my people and I waited for this great demon."

When the moon was full and the grave stones were silent I heard it," silence reigned throughout the crowd, even some of the adults stopped to listen, "its soft call echoed into the night."

My people say the fool who answers back will receive death, his soul and body carried off by the Owl, the helper of death, to be traded off to the underworld and exchanged for a gold coin the winged demon would eat as payment. And I would be left to wander its terrible and frightening wastelands."

 "What did you do...?" Another whispered in awe.

 When Octavian smiled evilly all their eyes grew as wide as the owl's, "I answered." That was of course rewarded with gasps and whispers, though when he held up his hand for silence he got it. "I answered and as silent as death, the creature swooped down on heavy wings and landed in front of me,"

He spoke in a hushed tone, "its eyes indeed as wide as moons, though as it looked at me, the gold in its eyes reminded me of the gold it was rewarded as payment for my capture."

The kids leaned in as he did, "The great Sada moved closer, its giant talons scraping against the black stone of the grave. Moving closer and closer, making his soft call."

 "You answered again?" A young boy, not that much older than Octavian, had his hands wrung into a nervous ball as the kids shushed him. His eyes darted around and settled back on the blonde, embarrassment a supple blush upon his face.

 "Yes." Again silence consumed the gathering. "It came closer as I did so. Seven times I did so and answered the demon's call, and seven times did it step closer, until its eyes and my eyes could stare into each one another's, perfectly."

 "What did you see?" This time this interruption was welcomed.

 "... I saw... a ghoul of myself." The owl hooted loudly and stretched its large grey wings, the children watched in horror as if it would come and take them away. Octavian chuckled darkly, "I had brought some fish from dinner and gave it to him that night. He gladly accepted the fish over my soul."

"But as I walked back into the village to find the witch that always worked in the hours of the moon. She instead, found me. Her shapely figure stood in the middle of the silvery ribbon of a dirt road and motioned me closer."

Octavian glanced around, "She was hidden by her shawl, so I could barely see her face, but her voice was as clear and smooth as running water, she said that I had cheated death and he was impressed. I had looked into the eyes of his helper and appeased it. I would live a challenging life and die an extravagant death. It will be _then_ the Great Sada will give its last soft call, and I must choose whether or not to answer back."

"But why? If you appeased death... what would there be to fear-"

The boy stopped talking when Octavian shook his head slowly, a cruel smile lingered on his lips as he looked at the children, "A man who makes deals with gods is worse off than a man who makes deals with devils." The children glanced at the Owl, and even from where he was sitting Octavian saw that he was scaring them.

His story was actually keeping them entertained, but he needed to take it down a notch before someone wet their pants. Because, as much as he enjoyed telling stories, he did not enjoy becoming the object of fear. He remembered how it felt to watch from the window to watch the kids chase one another in the dirt streets, laughing as they tackled each other, then the wary silence that followed when they all glanced up to see him watching earnestly.

Their eyes were always so... distrusting.

He continued, "If answered, with what challenges and hardships shall my spared life be sewn and stitched together with." When he finished the kids glanced at the owl who stared right back at them, his unblinking gold eyes lorded over their fears.

Octavian ran his hand down the creatures' back, and spoke in a deep and chilling voice, "Asha? Do you have any fish?" Asha looked at the children and the children looked at him. Every one of them scrabbled to their feet and ran off to get the demon in their camp some fish before it took their souls and exchanged it for gold to eat.

"Okay... that actually worked better than I thought..." Octavian chuckled. A steady wind that caressed his back made him look to the east. The mountains. They stood around them, their shadow cast for miles. The sight of them made Octavian uneasy for some reason.

Sada gave a louder more eerie call that echoed through the camp that made the adults look to Octavian with suspicion, he tried to give a smile but it failed miserably. When they looked on he frowned, "What was that about...?" He mumbled.

***

 The owl devoured all the fish brought to him and perched happily— or at least Octavian thought it was happy— on the stack of support beams left back from building the tents.

Octavian had checked its legs for wounds while it was eating so the bird didn't gut him for touching him unnecessarily. It rested after a few minutes, its large saucer eyes slowly closing as it drifted off into the clutches of slumber.

 "You were very brave," Octavian glanced to his side to see Asha had appeared next to him again. 'Why can I never hear his footsteps....?' he thought.

 "No, I was stupid..." Octavian recalled that night very clearly, when his depression was just another unwanted companion. He didn't include that in the story, but he was reminded of the sadness that plagued his mind because of the tale he told.

His conscience and mind weren't clear but his heart shed a ton once he saw how much the children were enjoying it. That night was when his mother came home with a wound on her back, she wouldn't tell him what had happened, and even though she didn't say it, he _knew_ it hurt.

He had left the house 'to take a walk' but was actually hoping to find Al Sada so he would take him away. Far far away, so his mother didn't have to suffer in order to look after him.

He couldn't help but feel stupid when he thought about that night now, mostly because of how silly it was, he was only six and he had already decided that he was only a burden; especially with the nightmares he had, constantly waking his mother up.

"Sorry... I was just thinking," he had remained so quiet that it started to worry Asha, the little boy, who was no more than six himself, walked up to Octavian and sat beside him, he had something behind his back, "Do you want me to guess what you have...?" Asha nodded and giggled. "Um," he smiled, "food."

 "How did you know?" Bright eyes were wide with astonishment, he turned to Sada and pouted, "You can't use magic!"

 "I did not use magic, I can smell the bread. I am starving!" Asha laughed and gave him the loaf. "Asha, why did you go near me in the oasis?" He had finished eating and brushed some of the crumbs away with his arm.

The reason why Asha would actually _want_ to come near him was just as much of a mystery as why the great and powerful 'Al Sada' was snooping around in a tent. 'Maybe it _is_ Al Sada...' Octavian pushed that frightening thought away, he already had a lot to deal.

 The boy looked up from his bread, "What? What do you mean?"

 "Do not play that game with me, kid." Octavian crossed his arms over his chest.

 Asha scratched the back of his head and feigning ignorance for as long as he could, but to no avail. Octavian's gaze did not waver. "Fine... I just thought you looked cool. The other kids say you are a ghoul from the underworld... but..."

 "You did not believe it?" Octavian stared at Asha, he was basically like him, he did not believe things like that. At least... not without evidence...

 He always liked finding things out for himself because after all, there was no telling what strange things people would say just because they do not understand.

It was the story of his damn life, after all. If anyone should know about that kind of thing, it was him.

The boy's eyes found the blonde's as he swallowed his last bite.

 "I am sorry... I did not want you thinking that I only liked you because you were strange... You just look like you were a nice person... And besides!" Asha stood up and pointed a figure at Octavian, "You were the one that swam up to me. You nearly scared the living daylights out of me!"

Something tingled in his chest, and before he knew it, a small chuckle escaped from Octavian's lips, but before he could say anything more to the boy he heard his mother calling. He saw her signaling him to come and he nodded, "Coming!"

He turned to a disappointed Asha, "Um, if you just want to talk some more then... it can wait until the morning... _However_ ," Octavian put stress on the last sentence, "I sneak out and swim in the morning sometimes... Maybe I will see you there." Asha's face was blank until Octavian poked him in the arm playfully, he gasped and then nodded, winking for good measure. "You are terrible at keeping secrets aren't you?"

 "Yes." Asha said this proudly, his hands on his hips and his chin raised slightly, "Yes I am."

 "I like your... honesty?" Octavian raised a brow and said his goodbyes. Entering the tent he plopped into the blankets, completely exhausted. He couldn't wait to go to sleep. _Woot_. Octavian lifted his sleepy bed head up from the comfort of the soft cool blanket, "Really?"

 "Yes, Octavian, really. " His mother was sitting up cross-legged, her dark hair up in a ponytail that fell to her back. He saw how messy it looked and frowned as he tried to ignore it.

She continued, "The people are fearful of owls here and since it would not leave the camp site, guess where it has to stay." He saw the look on her face and decided that if he wanted to sleep peacefully tonight, he'd keep his mouth shut. 

Octavian counted to three and almost on cue she continued, "Here, Octavian. I do not have a problem with these creatures, but I am not fond of them..." She glanced at the creature who fluffed its wings as if to use it as a pillow and when it felt his mother's stare it threw an incredulous look back at her.

Her eyes held some extra _spicy_ sass, Octavian noticed.

 "He seems tame, so maybe he is a messenger-"

 She glared at the owl and then turned to her son with those same stern eyes, "Octavian, I swear if you try to frighten me with that silly tale you told the children—"

"I assure, I do not have the energy to do any such thing... I mean the bird could be a _messenger_ , an actual messenger going to deliver something. There was a message tied to his foot when I checked it for injuries." He sighed, "And that story was amazing! I worked so hard on it too..."

That managed to get a laugh out of his mother, though it was too short-lived. 

After some silence she crawled over and sat next to him, running her fingers through her son's blonde hair, "I know I asked you this already, but... are you really okay?" An answer came muffled from Octavian, "Sweetheart, please tell me what is the matter." His little face peeked out from the blankets, stained with tears.

 "Why will you not tell me where you go all day? You come back with wounds sometimes..." He sniffled.

 "... I am sorry, my love," she laid down next to him and scooped him up in her arms, holding him close and kissing his forehead softly, "I will try to be more careful... things will get better. I promise." Her own tears were warm on his face.

As time went by she felt his breathing slow and saw his little chest's rise and fall rhythmically following her own deep breathes.

And as her little boy slept, she remained awake, for fear not only ruled her heart, but anger as well. She imagined her son felt the same and that troubled her mind. "Things will get better..." Her brown eyes drifted to his face, and in that one moment she seemed to smile, her skin glow with warmth.

He listened to her, imagining how her lips moved as she spoke, her eye-lids drooping as she succumbed to sleep, "But only after the worst of it all runs its course..." Octavian felt his own lips smile in the dreary cool of the night that snuck into the dark tent.

He knew in his heart would be there for her, through it all.

***

 Octavian carefully snuck out of the tent. Slipping out of his mother's arms wasn't hard, she rolled away and curled into herself as she continued sleeping. Now, as he approached the oasis near the camp he kept an eye out for Asha.

A splash caught his attention and he ran towards the water laughing, "You were supposed to wait for—", his voice retreated into his throat and a whimper fled his quivering lip. He would have fled too if the man's hand did not grab his shoulder and twisted it. He screamed for help but the heavy hand muffled them to pathetic whines.

 "But I did wait for you..." The voice was familiar now as the masked man whispered into Octavian's ear, in a broken form of his language.

His blood froze over and his heart dropped to his stomach as tears pricked his eyes. The soldier that had attacked his city was here, and no doubt there were more lurking in the darkness.

The night was murky and tangible, cold to the touch. And like an impermeable ocean it was going to drown out the screams of many, and the silver specters up above would only watch as blood tainted its dark waters. Watch indifferently, as people were slaughtered in their sleep, yet again.

 

That is, of course, if he didn't do anything about it.

 

 

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[ **This Week's** **Question:**

|"How many fingers do I have up?"|]

Quote of the Day:  
_"I am not what I am"_  
_\-- Shakespeare, Othello (Iago)_

**Thanks for reading, remember to like, share and comment!**

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	5. TWO GOLDEN MOONS [PART 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> Will there be friendship amongst violence?  
> \--

**CHAPTER 03: TWO GOLDEN MOONS [PART 2]**  

 

 

The soft shifty sand became hard ground as the man slammed him into it with bone-breaking force, his head hit first and the pain ricocheted down his spine as the soldier began to stomp on his back, holding him still and putting more force unto his lower back when he struggled, "Where is that defiant little boy now? Your mother cannot save you, so what ever will you do?" His burly voice held a dainty tone as he mocked Octavian.

"Defiant? You mean smart. Anyone in their right mind would kick an ass like you..., I am truly surprised that your fellow men have not done it already... There was not even much to kick anyway-", his speech turned into suffocating agony as the man kicked him in the ribs.

The boy writhed and tried to breath, coughing ensued and tears choked him, but he refused to look weak in front of the soldier, he bit his lip and tried to get up. "You are... a coward," he gasped, "nothing less than a stupid... _old_ coward... all of you..."

"Cowards, huh? I was not the one to shed tears and wet their pants in front of an enemy-"

"Your _enemy_ were women and children of the Persian Empire!" Octavian bellowed at the man, rage coursing through his body like a burning inferno, giving him the strength to stand fully as he cradled his ribs, "Furthermore, I am sure my _mother_ left you shedding enough tears."

The soldier had enough, he stood tall with his sword drawn. Octavian stepped back slowly into the water as he advanced, "Why are you doing this? What sense does it make to eradicate a country? What did we do?" With each question, Octavian's trembling voice rose in octave as well as anger.

The man pulled down the black cloth that hid the lower half of his face revealing a horrid gash across his cheek, the dull lights of fires cast behind them from the camp, illuminating the wound as it ate its way to his broken nose.

He grinned, "You and everyone else here are going to die anyway. Why not?" the man obviously enjoyed having the upper hand, he flaunted his sword around carelessly, "It is simple, you and the rest of your people, are vulnerable. And therefore, we attack." His sword struck ground with a mighty chink and he smirked, his green eyes determined.

"You have killed innocent people... burned down an _entire_ city... all because you think you can-"

 _"No._ Because we _know_ we can." Octavian felt the ice cold water lapping at his feet, the mud slowly devouring them as he stood there speechless. In a split second he was in the water, running as fast as he could, the water that was supposed to be his savior, now became his enemy too as it became hard to evade the soldier's swinging sword.

He fell and frantically threw his head out of the water to take a breath. It was cut short. Rough fingers yanked his hair up, forcing his to strain his neck; all of a sudden he found himself gasping and spluttering as the soldier dunked his head into the water and rubbed it into the mud. Dirt and water rushed up his mouth and his nostrils as he struggled to breath.

" _Your_ people... are soon to be... our property, boy, show some respect!" He kicked the boy in the same sore spot over and over as he spoke these words, amusement and mockery ensued as the rest of the soldiers either laughed or made fun of the scene. Octavian laid still. "You wouldn't even last a second as a slave..." the man panted, "better to die as a dog..."

"I imagine it's the same for you." The soldier turned around swiftly but it was too late, the boy took advantage that they were in the water and managed to take hold of the inside of his leg and flip him back. As soon as he went under Octavian scanned the water for the sword, he heard the sound of the other soldiers coming closer, most likely very angry and bloodthirsty.

He found the sword and drove it into the struggling soldier's chest, blood gurgled and bubbled up the man's mouth into the murky waters as he cursed at the boy.

The sight was grotesque, but Octavian saw that he was suffering, he tore the sword out of the man's chest and slammed it into his neck, severing the man's head; that one action ended the soldier's painful struggle and began the slow descendent into his own.

A man roared behind him and came in full force, all Octavian should have seen was the metal clanging armor, heavy swords held high and the wrinkled faces of men that screamed rage and bloodlust.

But Octavian didn't see that, he saw a bunch of larger than life men exposing their positions, even worse they were wearing these giant reflective suits, "they might as well have done a battle cry". Octavian shouted as loud as he could to the camp, "Intruders!" He swung at the man nearest to him, causing the soldier to knock over another one.

"Die-!" A stone hurled from a distance struck the soldier behind Octavian, his head lurched back sharply at a sickening angle and he collapsed into the water with a big splash. Blue eyes scanned the banks and found the little figure of Asha as he threw his little fists in the air as if in celebration, they glared at him.

A few soldiers saw this and made their way to the boy, "Asha-", he felt wind slice across his arm and dove into the water, avoiding another slice from the man's sword; the soldier searched for him but Octavian jumped up behind him, the weight of the sword held up soon helped him propel it up, as the robust warrior turned around to kill the boy, his comrade's blade wielded by a lanky little boy was thrust into his neck.

He fell and pulled Octavian with him. The struggling in the shallow water was short and as the blonde frantically got to his feet, his clothes heavy and soaked with blood, he watched with relief as the rest of the soldiers retreated. The older men of the camp had come with their curved swords in close pursuit of them.

"That armor cannot help you now..." He panted. Trudging up the muddy banks he lugged the sword with him, his knuckles white as they gripped the hilt of the heavy weapon. Adrenaline made his blood pound in his ears, muting the screams that echoed near the water's edge, he would have trembled if he wasn't so worried. "Asha!"

He called out for the boy while the rest of the men were killing one another, a gruesome scene, the clash of swords and men's ragged voices drowned out his own desperate calls. And the sky's bleak blackness, provided, not a silver star, to be a spectator to this battle, but two golden eyes, as large as saucers, carried by heavy grey wings.

It was then Octavian managed to spot the child. Asha was behind some boulders that lined the eastern bank side of the oasis, the soldier just a few feet away, knocking his sword on each stone methodically, coming closer and closer to discovering Asha's poor hiding spot.

Curling into himself, Asha laid there, trying to tuck himself into a non-existent crack.

A shaky breath left his lips while he let himself tremble. His sodden clothes weighed him down and chilled him to the bone as he stood there with the wind to his back. Octavian made his choice. "Hey!" The soldier spun around and saw Octavian approaching him, a grin stretched across his face that seemed different from the other's.

"Fight me." Octavian declared, "Or die a coward." The soldier tilted his head, hair peppered with grey and silver shifted slightly in the dry wind as eyes of auburn stared back at him.

"I would rethink that young man." The blonde frowned, he was giving his friend some time to escape, he didn't mind talking instead of fighting, whatever gave Asha enough time to bolt.

"Why do you say that? I have killed two of your comrades, what makes you think I cannot kill you?" The man lifted his chin, analyzing Octavian as he circled him, a soft smile played on his lips, "What is so funny?" Octavian glared, still unsure of the soldier's plan.

"You." When he looked offended the soldier laughed, it was a real laugh, jolly almost. Just like the laughs he would hear in the streets whenever there was a festival. This made him uneasy as the soldier stabbed his sword into the sand and left it to stand, "Do not look so insulted. I only say this because you are funny."

"I believe that you killed some of my men, rest assured, however, I thought you would sneak your little friend away while my back was turned. I had seen you look behind those boulders and then look at me... Do you fight to gain honor, or to protect? Answer this question, and depending on your answer, I will fight you."

Octavian was stunned. The soldier actually stood there, his hands behind his back as he awaited his answer. The sun was approaching the horizon, casting a deep red hue to bleed across the dark sky. Seeing that it was almost morning Octavian thought that the soldier would kill him and retreat.

With most of his brothers slaughtered and so few running away, he thought that he would surely follow suit. Instead he stood there behind enemy lines and awaited the answer to some ridiculous question he gave to a skinny blonde boy who can barely lift the large sword in his hands. "You mock me."

"No, no, I do not mock." The soldier crossed his arms over his worn iron breastplate, "Do you have your answer?"

"...I fight to protect..." Octavian flinched when the soldier approached him, leaving his sword behind. He forced his weak and tired arms to lift the trembling sword, but the soldier took it from him in one swift move. Tossing it aside. Octavian looked up, confusion set in his blue eyes as he looked into the soldier's.

"Good. You do not need to." He pointed to the fleeing figure of Asha as he frantically climbed over the sand ridge to get to camp. Probably for reinforcements. "Do you still want to fight? Be honest with yourself."

Octavian's bottom lip quivered as he tried to hold his ground, "No..." his voice cracked and he failed to stop his shoulders from quaking, he hung his head feeling the shame of breaking in front of the enemy.

Heavy hands rested on the boy's small shoulders, blue eyes found the warm brown eyes of the man, "Am I still your enemy?" When Octavian reluctantly shook his head the soldier smiled, "Young man, you were very brave. I am impressed." Octavian also recognized that he spoke with an accent, unlike the other soldiers.

"You are different. You are not of the same people, are you?" A familiar hoot made them both look up.

The soldier smiled, "You are right. And if you would be an ally, to me, I promise you I will return the favor. But it is your choice."

"I will be your ally, if, you tell me who you serve."

"I will tell you more than that." The man motioned Octavian to follow as he took his sword and sheathed it, "I am a soldier of Greece, but a committed spy for Rome... That owl's name is Aetius, it is Latin for eagle," he chuckled, "sometimes I think he should have been born an eagle, which is why I named him this. He and I deliver intelligence to Rome from within foreign states, in this case, the weakened Empire of Persia."

"So the men who killed my people... were from Greece?" Octavian stared blankly at the man, he only heard himself ask, "Are they... Rome's enemies?"

_Did they bring their war upon us?_

"Yes. The Greek, however, are not our enemies. For Rome, there are no enemies. Only nations to conquer and add to her name. They are those who plot to burn her down, but she will only rise from the ashes with a vengeance to come, to see, to conquer. All over again." Octavian nodded, understanding how all this came to be.

"So you cannot fight your feud elsewhere?" When the soldier shook his head the boy sighed.

"The battle ground is the earth, there is nowhere to run if the Greeks burn down my home."

"Like they did to mine..."

He sighed and nodded, patting the boy's soldier. "Keep the sword, you earned it. As for that favor," he bent down on one knee to face Octavian, "If there is ever a time you need that favor. Look for me in back allies of Rome, my true name is Lucius Sartorius, however, when asking for me, just say you are looking for the man with silver hair."

He patted Octavian's head and started walking away. "They will be here soon, so hurry..." The boy watched as the soldier removed his armor to reveal loose black clothes. "A disguise...?"

"Boy!" The blonde spun around, an alarmed and bloodied group of men approached him, "Are you alright?" Their eyes rested on the large sword held in his hands and they all started to smile, and before he knew it, Octavian was being clapped on the back.

"Your mother was worried. She will be glad to know that her son, rather than a corpse, is a warrior!" One of them praised him and the group of men cheered. The aftershock of all this excitement took hold of Octavian as he tried not to shake, he didn't remember, but at one point, on his weary five second journey back to camp, he collapsed and one of the men carried him to the tent he and his mother shared.

Sleep came to him quickly, but peace of mind left him.

Hollow was his mind.

 

Exposed was his dreams.

 

 

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 **[Question of the week:  
** |Anyone loves Aladdin (Disney movie)? Anyone? Anyone?| ]

Thanks everyone for reading this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it ^^

**Don't forget to like/give kudos and comment if you liked this chapter!**

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	6. TWO GOLDEN MOONS [PART 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> "Earth breaks open, Colossal Snakes grow restless, and sun stares opaquely into the barren womb of the skies,  
> Who could have told, the story of the boy with shattered bottle-blue glass eyes?  
> Who could have known, that by fire's contempt, his gift scattered lies?
> 
> Who ever could have guessed?  
> But the boy himself."  
> \--

**CHAPTER 03: TWO GOLDEN MOONS [PART 3]**  

 

 

"Octavian?" His dark dreams of static and nothingness were interrupted by warm whispers on his ear, he moaned and refrained from moving his stiff and aching muscles, as silence ensued he returned to the blank and empty relief of his dream-less sleep.

Because his mind was as frayed and exhausted as his body, he did not want to be disturbed. When he felt someone shake his arms violently, he began to protest stubbornly.

"No, stop... stop, _what_?!" He jolted up, his hands already flashing into the bed covers to find the comforting grip of the sword.

"No, no, Octavian, it's me!" Asha was as energetic as usual, which baffled Octavian. He suddenly grew serious, his eye holding a fierce light, as if he were about to face an enemy, "Fight me. Or die a coward."

Octavian immediately shrunk away when he recognized where that idiotic line came from, but Asha ripped the blanket off him, leaving his embarrassed rosy red cheeks to burn in full view and in shame. "Do not repeat that to anyone."

"Why?" Asha pouted.

"Because I sounded stupid!" Skinny arms were thrown into the air in frustration, "I only said that to get his attention, and-"

"Yeah, about that... I sort of, kind of, already told the whole entire camp what you did," Asha interrupted his rant, halting him to a complete and utter standstill, "Look, I know you're angry, but-... hey, there is no need to sulk like that...- Or lift your sword!" Octavian put down the sword he was going to use to hit the boy with. He had injured himself trying to save him, injuring Asha now would just be unwise on his part.

"You should be happy! I am." Asha proudly lifted his head and Octavian held his own in his hands. "Are you still tired?"

"No, Asha, I am as alive and energetic as can be." Sarcasm dripped from ever word that left his frowning lips.

"Great!" Octavian sighed irritably, but he couldn't help but smile at Asha's peppiness. However, this time, the boy was acting strange, his head turned from one way to the next as he looked for people who weren't there, "Octavian, want to see something cool?"

The blonde didn't like the way the boy said 'cool', "No."

"Come on!" He groaned and Octavian grudgingly complied, Asha smiled again and lifted his shirt to reveal bandages galore. "I look like the dead of the Egyptians!" The curly haired brunette seemed actually amused about this fact.

Octavian sat up quickly, analyzing the extent of the damage. "Asha," he remembered what happened.

The blood, the swords, the Roman... The Greeks.

Faster and faster did his chest fall and rise, his breathes grew wild and his crying hysterical. It was like he was watching himself, as if by some strange dark power, he had withdrew into himself and was watching from outside his own body, "I am sorry, I am so sorry," he started sobbing. Asha held the older boy with his small arms and tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault.

"Octavian, it does not hurt _that_ badly... A-and, it was because I tried to help. It is my battle wound." Watery blue eyes looked up to see a goofy grin, "I would really like it if you think of it as my battle wound too."

"We can be warrior buddies!" When Asha stretched out his arm to pat Octavian he jerked as the pain seared his side and made him lurch, the blonde was there to catch him in a soft hug.

"You always act like this... " he wished that he could too, but for some reason whenever he tried to his real self was always there, waiting for him to choose _it_ when all else failed. When his love failed. And his life has been nothing _but_ failures on his part. "Please stay still. Maybe we can play when you get better?" The boy's playful demeanor melted away. In fact everything melted away. A loud screech rattled his senses, "Asha?" Everything started ripping, "Asha! Asha?!"

The blankets, the tent, the sky... his reality shattered like glass, awakening a monstrous amber snake that swallowed everything. The sand and earth seem to fall into its abysmal gaping throat.

Octavian sunk into the ocean of sand, his bones crushing under the weight as it tossed him about, and all the while the suffocating darkness loomed above waiting patiently gulp him down into oblivion.

As he fell he plummeted into a scarlet pool and the sickeningly sweet taste of iron invaded his mouth as he drowned in thickness. Blood filled his nose, his ears, and burned his eyes.

He tried to swim, barely making it to surface and taking a desperate breath, but could only scream, the bubbles blinding him further, as boney fingers dug into his skin and clothes, dragging him back down. They were men and women with boiling voices, their eyes as gold and as wide as owls'.

They spoke in unison.

" _Run_." Yet their fingers dug deeper and began to rip flesh from bone, their eager claws frenziedly boring into his chest. They went for his eyes next.

"No!" The seven year old screamed, tears stinging his eyes as he hyperventilated. "No, no, _no_!" He sobbed.

"Sweetheart, it is okay, everything is fine." His mother cradled her little sobbing bundle and rocked him back and forth, "Everything is okay now." After he calmed down his mother pried his face from her chest, lifting his chin so she could see his eyes, though they avoided making contact with hers.

"My love, you are safe now, look," she convinced him to see how normal the tent was and that he didn't have any serious wounds, "No one but I was inside, no one else touched you." Octavian nodded; Evening had already begun.

"I slept the whole day?" With a nod from his mother he collapsed back into the sweaty warm blankets, "At least I did not piss my pants..." Familiar fingers ran through his soft hair gently and the boy closed his eyes for a few moments. "I-is Asha alright?"

"Asha?" Octavian sat up, "Oh, yes, the young boy with wide bright eyes? He wanted to check up on you, but I told him he had to wait until you woke up." The look she gave him challenged him to say anything about what she did. He didn't even try.

"Can I go see if he is okay?" Silence made Octavian break into a cold sweat, a shiver running down his spine, "Is he okay?"

"He is not well. His wound is infected and he is sleeping... I do not know of anything more. I-"

Octavian ran out of the tent, after a few tries he scowled, "What were you thinking! You do not even know where he-" He ran into someone, "Sorry!" Glancing up he realized that 'sorry' was not going to be enough. Slamming him into the sand, Raheem pinned him down. "I guess I cannot ask you where your brother is?"

"Shut your filthy mouth, there is no way your accursed ass is going anywhere near my brother." Octavian was mocked for his strange accent all the time for how strange it sounded, but he never thought that his pronunciations was _filthy_ , maybe a little rough, but he thought it was pretty decent. "Ever since you came, he has either gotten killed, or-"

"I only started talking to him three days ago! How much trouble could I have caused your brother? He came to protect me on his own free will... Besides..." He couldn't believe that he was going to say this, "that wound is his, battle wound..." Now he knew he shouldn't have said this. His head turned sharply to the side as the boy punched his cheek; Octavian was afraid he was going to have to eat on one side of his mouth.

"Raheem!" A shrill yet frightening voice made both the boys glance towards the third tent to the left. A small plump woman, her head wrapped in a colorful shawl, stood there with a look of scorn etched into her hard features.

"Raheem, I think your mother is calling you." Octavian smirked.

The boy threw his collar down and glaring, made his way to his reprimanding mother, with mouth full with rebuttals. While they were busy he snuck inside the tent, he immediately saw Asha's little body lying still in the middle of the floor.

When he sat next to him his bright eyes looked up, "Hey!" He didn't seem to lose that optimistic tune to his voice, "You are alright!" Octavian smiled, putting his hand Asha's chest so he didn't get up.

"I tried to see you yesterday and today, but you were sleeping. You sleep for a really long time. Oh! And I heard the Elders talking. You have a sword!? I cannot believe it!- Well, I mean, I _can_ believe it, but to think... You haven't even been here for that long-"

"I've been here for nearly half a year, Asha-"

"Yeah, but Raheem couldn't get a sword, and we've been through _loads_ of fights! We've been travelling for years! And you manage to beat the enemy with his own sword!?"

"W-well, no, no of course not, he was bigger, and stronger... A lot stronger- and I was the one who got the most injuries-"

"Battle scars, my friend. Battle scars." Asha grinned from ear to ear, "Though, it's great that you have a sword. Now, we can play sword fighting with mine, wouldn't that be awesome? Raheem never plays, he's always off looking at that mountain-"

Octavian just let the boy talk, nodding and smiling when he needed to, which of course wasn't hard. And then Asha told him something he didn't know, "Your mother said you were leaving tomorrow, please tell me that is not true." Octavian shook his head, unsure of what to say.

"I-I... she never told me..." Silence, like a muted symphony played on with its heavy and saddening song, "She never told me... _anything_ about leaving." Asha's small hand patted his slightly larger, paler hand.

"It will be alright." He smiled softly, taking Octavian by surprise, "My father always says that when you make a friend, you will see them soon enough, so when they leave, it is not really good bye."

"Asha, I wish... I wish that I could believe that-"

"Then do it."

"...Why?" Blonde hair fell into the boy's face as he cried, "Believing in something like that will surely kill me with grief, Asha... I do not want to leave. My mother cannot make that kind of decision without me knowing, she can't-"

For once Asha shook his head in disagreement, "Octavian. She only does what is best for you. The village may seem nice... but we are travelling to our city, _our_ country." His friend pursed his lips tightly, angrily.

"And if news gets out that a boy with pale skin can charm Al Sada, and defeat grown warriors of another formidable nation, then you will be in serious danger. I love my people, but..." he sighed and Octavian knew what came next, "They are really suspicious of any little thing. Once I took an.. owl's egg- I think- and put it under my bed to hatch it and my parents bathed me in the Sacred Waters for weeks!"

He shook his head solemnly, "There is no telling what they would do to you and your mother." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "I know you are sad. I am too. But, you must leave tomorrow. The camp Elders may respect you now for your bravery, but Raheem has already spread rumors that you were the one to lead the soldiers here."

"Because of the owl...." Octavian sighed as the realization slammed into his stomach ike a hammer, "I am the only one here who knew how to calm it down..." Asha nodded.

"And there are rumors that the bird was a messenger..."

Octavian didn't have to think hard to who could have gotten hold of that information.

"There is no guarantee that the people here will not choose to slaughter you and your mother a few days from now. Time may heal all wounds, but it gives paranoia a chance to sow willing seeds into every mind... My friend, it is time for you to leave... And as I fear that this is our last conversation."

He struggled to sit up with his wounds inflicting their glowing pains, and even with Octavian's help he had to rely on him for support, but, in the end he managed to wrap his arms around him in loving embrace, "so this will be our last hug for a very long time, it seems. However, do not despair, for fixed not are the bonds of friendship in an iron destiny... We will meet again. I promise you."

"You... are very wise... I promise to meet you as well, I am eager to see how much you have grown after I have left." Octavian ruffled his friend's hair one last time and tried to smile, "I will miss you, Asha, I will remember you fondly."

"As will I, it is with a heavy heart that I regret not becoming friends earlier."

The blond exhaled slowly, "Better late than never." With that the two took their last looks and Octavian disappeared from the tent, avoiding the eyes of everyone he passed. Asha was right, as he passed by some crowds the people's eyes would dart to and fro, and suddenly speak in hushed voices.

They had to leave.

As his empty blue eyes stretched to un-known lands past the horizon, so did his mind, though the sadness of losing a friend always drew him back. He sighed, "As Asha said... Fixed not are the bonds of friendship..."

Winds brushed his hair forward as it merrily romped in the sand, and even though the sun showed no mercy today in its ferocious rays, Octavian felt no fear.

As his bare feet soaked up the warmth of the late sun's heat left in the sand, he looked up to the darkening world above, its silver spectators all peering through the air, thick with the rust red of the afternoon, right back at him.

Twinkling and glittering like dust blown across a bare black canvas. Octavian wondered if he would miss the aroma of the spices, the cool of the night, or even the familiar language that danced across so many tongues.

Most of all, he wondered if he would miss the sound of heavy wings on the wind and soft cries calling to anyone who will answer and the little boy with bright eyes that didn't mind being with him.

"I am going to need that favor Lucius Stratus..." As the day finally died and gave birth to night, the display of blood red light died with it, bringing only silver ribbons flowing from the moon. He saw two gold moons blinked at the camp and disappeared into the darkness and smiled, "I hope you are ready to keep your word."

 

 

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[ **This week's question:  
** |"What is the largest owl in the world?"| ]

_(Sorry this chapter's so long!)_

**Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to like, comment and share! ;3**

**—————————————————————————————-**


	7. COLD MORNING'S CRIMSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> "Just when you think it couldn't get any worse..."  
> \--

****CHAPTER 04: COLD MORNING'S CRIMSON**  **

 

 

Grass tore under foot as the boy ran as fast as he could. The deep, speckled light, forest gave way before him: branches and trunks high and proud, slanted smooth plain that was carpeted with wild grasses, bushes buzzing with slumbering honey bees, the frigid air filled with the chatter and cries of birds.

It was his playground. The wild.

The early morning fog was permeated with the coming light, a pale and ghostly apparel that the forest shrouded herself in, like curtains to keep the sun's prying eyes away.

He skid to a halt, loose leaves flittered, disturbed from their earthy bed, in a small trail behind him. Gravel trickled down the soft hill as the boy stooped down near its edge. The air always seemed awfully still and quiet whenever you were listening for someone.

Or something.

As he crawled on his knees and snuck up on the rustling bush. Laying flat on his belly he inched closer. The stones did not make it comfortable, but his body soon warmed the earth beneath him, making it more bearable; his small fingers carefully found the branches of the thicket and pried it open as silently as he could. He managed to peer through to the other side and low and behold:

A wolf.

A pup actually. It had fresh carcass staining its cute muzzle as it romped and ripped away the flesh of some dead animal.

Octavian watched curiously as the playful creature raised its head and ears. Was it listening for him too? He paused. The blond thought about how vicious the canine would grow to be, the white of the teeth glinted with blood as it grinned and licked it away.

The blonde had heard a few howls for the past few days he had been exploring in the forest near his new home. Or at least that is what his mother called it. 'A Home away from Home'. Of course he knew that was just an excuse.

A sharp whistle and the pup turned his way uttering small whines and yips as he came closer.

"Hey little one..." Octavian slowly got up and stepped over the bush, hoping a little as the branch grabbed at his pants leg. He needed to be careful, there was a shear drop into more trees and bushes and the stones that bounced down there didn't sound like they hot ground... It was a precipice hidden by canopy.

"Were you playing?" He had heard that wolves couldn't bark, so as he put his hand in front of the snapping pup he drew back quickly, as he expected growling hummed from the small animal.

Even though they were engaged in a dangerous game, the wolf nor the boy seemed troubled. Soon the wolf was close enough to him to pet him on the head. "Do you want something else to eat?" Octavian ruffled its rough pelt.

He took some meat from his pocket and unwrapped it from its wax-paper prison, the smell of raw veal and blood seemed to excite the animal. It jumped up and sniffed at it excitedly so Octavian gave it some to taste.

When he made the puppy sit he gave it the rest, patting it on the head when it ate. "We are good friends, you and I..." the boy knew that wasn't true, but it was nice to say it. The wolf was used to him coming here, and was just happy to get some extra food. That was all. Friendship can not bought, even in the simplest of creatures. It is earned.

Octavian didn't mind that it would take some time to build the relationship further, the pup sometimes waited for him, and that was a good sign.

A playful nuzzle eased him out of his thoughts and turned his attention back to his little friend, "Yes, little one?" Its large grey ears flopped as it tilted its head, its black eyes full of energetic fire and its fluffy tail wagging happily. It raised its paw and Octavian knew that it wanted to play.

"Where is your mother...?" the pup responded by head-butting his thigh, "Come now, no playing... your mother has not come back? Are you alone too?" He picked the dog up and cradled it, "You are so small." He nipped at the boy's fingers teasingly, "Would you like to come live with me?" Octavian offered and his nose was licked gently by the pup's small tongue.

There was a chilling howl and the pup jumped out of his hands. Ears and posture showed how alert it was as its frozen stare looked east. Its mother was near after all.

Octavian sighed, he knew that he had been here too many times and the mother would most likely move the pup to someplace else, "Alright, good luck little one." He kissed the wolf's head for the last time and headed back home.

Walking out of the dark covers of the black forest he stepped into the morning sunlight, the sweet songs of morning birds chimed of his coming.

Now that the day was fresh the larger more dangerous animals have awakened and sounded their rousing yawns. A bear's gruff belch of a roar cut through bird's chatter.

Octavian stretched his hands to the sky and yawned too, his back curved like a cat's as it gave a crick. If the boy was alarmed by the sound, he didn't show it. Maybe it was early confidence that he sported, as he _never_ did run into a bear. All the while he had been in the forest, he had cunningly saw signs of their presence and evaded them.

"Hello? Young man?" Blue eyes scanned the dirt road in front of him. "Over here." An older man, his face rough and his green eyes sharp, stood up from the grass, "You wouldn't have any food on you, would you?" His sudden appearance made Octavian uneasy.

What man who lies in wait in the grass asks for _food_?

Octavian thought he was a robber, or a beggar, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No." The boy looked the man up and down. He did not look like a beggar per say, his clothes were plain and dirty, so was his face, but his eyes... They were vibrant and commanding, "Are you a Blacksmith?" Octavian analyzed his demeanor. The man stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, yet as he looked down at the boy, there was a glimmer of enjoyment present. As if he enjoyed towering over him.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" The man's green eyes frowned at him.

Octavian gave a practiced smile, "No reason." His blonde hair shifted into his eyes as he tilted his head, "I bet there will be a pig, slaughtered over the stove soon, at home. My mother is a great huntress, but she is not the only one able to catch and kill prey. I can kill you something to eat!" The boy announced proudly.

"The forest is _full_ of them! They can hide well, but sometimes one will just trot straight up to you... Would you like some, sir?" The young man grinned and clapped his back, apparently happy for the free meal. And so Octavian led the man down the dirt road, one small fact came to mind.

There was only one Blacksmith in town...

And he was elderly.

As they grew closer to the cottage, Octavian took a trail that lead them around and into the trees. They headed into the forest's maze again. The leaves underfoot muffled the crunch of twigs, but left a pungent earthy scent in the moist air.

It had rained well enough last night to the point where the countless leaves of the trees were bejeweled with water droplets. This was apparent as little droplets plummeted from above at random, assaulting their heads with one cold splash at a time.

Using his sleeve, Octavian, wiped off the water from his cheek and glanced up at the man, "Sir? Is it hard being a Blacksmith?"

"No. Not at all." The man gave short answers, the blonde noticed. "Do you... want to be a Blacksmith one day?" There it was again. The sound of feigned interest lingered beneath that honest voice. Octavian played along.

"Yes, sir. I really would, but I have no one to teach me." He lowered his gaze to the ground, his pale feet were scarred by a few cuts here and there. Although his pale skin wasn't that suspicious, because people with fair skin often pop up every now and again, his accent was very much so.

He thought, ' _You were waiting there for a reason...Does it have something to do with my mother..._? He paused as he thought of his child-like disposition, ' _Just because I am a child, doesn't mean that I will tell you everything_... _No one's that gullible..._ '

"When your father comes back, maybe he will teach you, yes?" This time the man made sure his touch would linger on his shoulder as he rested his hands there. They were heavy, like paws, as they kept the boy close to the stranger.

Octavian mentally added child snatcher to the list of things the man could be.

The boy shook his head, "My father is dead, Sir... And... if you do not mind me saying this, you remind me of him." The boy even added a smile for him to see.

If the man was not put off by _that_ line then no one would miss such a perverted creep anyway if he killed him for trying anything... odd.

"You have my sympathy," he squeezed the blond's shoulder softly as his brows curved in cheap concern, and Octavian fought the urge to just stab him in the gut, _'Sympathy? More like pity..._ ' he questioned the man's real identity as they started back on the trail.

"But enough with this disheartening subject, you said there were pigs here?" Green eyes scanned the area, interest peeking in his flitting green eyes.

"Yes, there are many."

"Enough to feed an army, I suppose?" There was a tune of hilarity with this sentence, but Octavian didn't like the underlying tone. "I mean if one wished to fight off the predators that lurked in the bushes, of course."

"... You will be surprised how confident the boars are..."

"Yeah..?" The man looked down at the smiling boy, his left hand ruffling his hair rather roughly as he ran it through the follicles.

"...Yes, they are hunters themselves you see... But it just goes to show you, how easily the hunters can become the prey. In the forest, I mean." This statement reward Octavian with a hearty laugh from the man.

"True, true, young lad. True, true." They had circled a few times and he still did not have any information on the man. His heart was racing now as they approached the house. "I did not think it was so far away." The irritated tone hidden behind the façade of exhaustion made Octavian look up and meet the man's gaze steadily.

"I apologize, Sir. For me it is such a short way, I forgot that it may have been so _tiring_ for you." The man bit his lip mid-scowl and forced a hurried smile on quickly, his hands were on the boy's shoulders again, but this time he squeezed them harder, as if he wanted to ease the flesh off his bones. Octavian tried his best to act like he felt nothing. "Because I made you walk all this way, I will give you a hot meal instead. We caught a deer a while back."

"Is your mother home?" The change of subject was quite unexpected for Octavian, a few moments ago he had only been asking questions that would reveal where he was from. Seeing that his accent was so strong, he did not hesitate but to think that it had betrayed him from the beginning, he thought it only natural that the stranger would want to know where he was from.

He looked up, "My mother works hard, Sir. She will be back when the sun is in the higher quarters of the sky."

"You have breakfast alone? What a cruel mother." Octavian nodded sadly, "Do I dare think that that is the reason you are willing to drag a starving man home?" The stranger almost looked quite amused, but Octavian knew better. There was something in his voice and his eyes as he spoke to him that rubbed Octavian the wrong way. None of this sat right with the boy.

As soon as he had indicated that they were getting closer to his home, the brunet had gotten much sloppier and relaxed with his questions; there were even moments when the physical contact made Octavian's skin crawl as the man's thumbs found the nape of his neck and stroked it. Whatever he was going to do, he was going to do it when they were inside.

"Come this way, you can sit here," he opened the cottage door and pulled up a chair from the wooden table, "I will heat up the food." He headed out back to retrieve a chunk from the slab of meat left out in the stone oven. The deer was hunted and killed by his mother, whom, reluctantly, revealed to him the secrets of stalking game such as deer and rabbit.

This 'trophy', as his mother called it, was a deer, but despite it being so highly prized by his mother, he could not see where the gleaming pride in which she placed directly to the fleshy hung carcass was set. Where he wished her sweet delight laid was in him.

ust before he served the bread and hot meat he picked a white flower from its vine. Its small dainty petals were placed in the cup of wine poured for the man. A sweet berry aroma soon wafted from the crimson water and Octavian took them out, tossing them into a bucket. The white petals were stained as if they were bleeding and the edges coiling as if in pain. "Here you go." The blonde placed their food on the table.

"Mmm," the man took a sip of the wine, "this smells very sweet... but it tastes like wine..."

"It is wine. My mother taught me the traditional way of setting food for _special_ guests." The corners of the boy's mouth twitched up slightly as he watched the man put the cup to his lips. His cut-glass blue eyes refracted the image as it played out in reality, and in his memories.

 

 

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[ **This week's question:  
** | _"Are you a morning person or a night person?" _ | ]

__(The Quotes have gone MIA!)_ _

****Thanks for reading everyone!  
Don't forget to give _kudos_ , _comment_ and _share_ if you liked this chapter! ;3** **

**—————————————————————————————-**


	8. COLD MORNING'S CRIMSON [PART 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> Sometimes,  
> When you hear blood and anger's plea,  
> Your soul doth prying vengeance see...  
> \--  
> -Anonymous

**COLD MORNING'S CRIMSON [PART 2]**

 

 **\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**  
\-- WARNING\--: | THIS CHAPTER HAS SCENES THAT CONTAIN SEXUAL&VIOLENT/EXPLICIT CONTENT |  
{Rating= 4/10}  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He looked impressed, "Very extravagant, this venison is amazing too." Octavian smiled politely and ate his own food as he watched the man drink away merrily. He knew the only reason the venison tasted 'amazing' was because the man's senses were slowly dying.

He was only relying on memory for taste now, it would not be long before he was relying on his shattered abstract memories like a blind man's trust lied in his walking stick. Reality would soon become his nightmare. As Octavian sipped his untainted watered-down wine he smiled at how appropriate the name Quietus insaniam was, the poisonous flower was as white as snow, and yet its name was as innocent as war.

"Sleeping madness..." The man looked up at the boy, he was finished and had just drained the cup.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Now it was Octavian's time to give one word answers. He got up and sat down on the edge of the table near the man, "Nothing, but... I do have a question."

The man nodded, a drunken grin forming across his face as he drank in the boy's image, "If it is a question of my name, you may call me... Calix."

The boy remembered, bizarrely, that the name Calix meant handsome, and fought down the feeling of disgust, the stranger was now even more suspicious to him. This only meant bad news for the stranger, of course. And Calix was very much a _strange_ man.

He used the word venison, which was only used by people of much a higher status than a beggar, he was just lying in wait (literally) in the grass at the border of the forest and seemed quite happy that the young boy was alone. Octavian knew, however, that all this didn't say much about that man, except that he was weird.

Possibly eccentric... As all beggars were.

He sighed, "I was going to ask you if you wanted more wine." He gave a soft smile and hoped that his embarrassment didn't trickle through the cracks of his cool mask.

"I would not mind at all!" Calix laughed and handed him the cup. As he poured the wine, and added the dried red petals of another medicinal flower, he mixed the drink, carefully taking out the soaked petals and placing them in a bowl of water. Scarlet water stilled and he glanced at his reflection. A ghost. As pale and as ruefully vengeful it seemed.

Octavian felt guilty for luring the man here, what was he trying to accomplish? He asked himself this repeatedly as he brooded over the watery mirror. Octavian did not have long to mope though, as his doubts soon materialized into cold hard reality. The cup shattered as it was swiped to the ground. Octavian narrowly dodged the blade of a dagger wielded by the stranger Calix.

"You are fast for one so small..." The boy was in a corner, his back against the wall as the man came closer in cool, nonchalantly placed steps.

"And you are a sneaky one for one so old." Octavian tried to look dangerous, but with each step the man gained power over the boy.

He was free to flaunt this fact as he grinned and laughed at him, "What were you expecting? Leading a stranger into your house?" He cruelly snatched at the boy's shirt and slammed his small body into the wall, "I almost feel sorry for killing you."

"No you don't." His heart was hammering inside his chest as the blonde tried desperately, but to no avail, to escape the man's iron grip.

"Ooooh," the man chuckled, gazing hungrily into the icy blue eyes that blazed up at him with anger, "such a shame... I would have liked to have captured your mother and killed you slowly-"

"And I wanted to have my mother witnessing me kill you slowly, but we can't have everything our way, now can we...?" a wry smile spread across his thin lips, "but we can enjoy the small victories..."

The man found that he could not speak well, "I will be damned if I cannot slaughter a nine year old _boy_ ," he spat his last word, though there was uncertainty in his green eyes as over his dirty face began to bead and drip cold sweat. He swayed and Octavian took the opportunity to throw him off balance. The man forced himself on him, "You are a boy who needs to learn some manners," this made the boy knee him in the stomach. A thick thud and Calix was on the ground. The boy's words floated over his head as if he were in water.

"You will be damned anyway, as an _eleven_ year old boy, slaughters you." Octavian took the dagger from the man's relaxed hand happily and stepping over his strewn limbs he casually sunk to one knee. "I told you we would have a pig in our house soon, did I not?" Taking his ankles, he barely managed to drag him out back. Calix groaned and whispered and giggled, fully intoxicated with drugs and alcohol. Octavian got him out of the house and into the forest, but was reckless; fingers dug into his leg and soon he was pulled under the drunken stranger.

"Come now, behave, show me that you can behave..." It was all mad chanting really, Octavian struggled under Calix's wavering strength, but found that the man only found pleasure in seeing him squirm. He stopped and looked up at the man who pinned him down. "Good... good.."

A ball was forming in his throat as the boy felt himself choking on silence. He felt the tickle of the roughly shaven beard, the wet lips and hot breaths on his neck, and wished that this was not happening. Calix seemed to have been enjoying himself as he stroked Octavian's cheek, kissing his lips gently and then mercilessly biting the boy's lips whenever he struggled. "Now, just be a good boy and behave..."

His hand gradually went down Octavian's pants as his lips made their way down his neck and to his chest. Green eyes gazed into icy blue eyes and smiled as Calix pressed his lips on Octavian's trembling ones; his tongue ran along their length, begging for opening. The blonde obeyed, but not for the reasons Calix expected.

While he was enjoying his time molesting Octavian, the boy had put his hands up the man's shirt and was actually searching for the knife. It was only when Calix wrapped his arms around his waist did he find it. "See, it is not so bad..." The man allowed Octavian to come up for air.

"Reckless..."

"What was that?" Calix had the boy sat up in his lap so he could feel the bulge pressing eagerly against him. His snake-like smile made what Octavian was about to do even more enjoyable.

"You are a reckless pig." In a moment Calix seemed to be laughing, the knife was unfortunately dull and did not slice through his throat as deeply as the boy wanted it to. The familiar sound of gurgling and the sickly sound of stone against skull sliced through the merry tweets and songs of the birds. Death was strange to Octavian. He never saw it in such detail before.

As he calmed himself down and crawled over to the squirming man. He was violently thrashing about for air that he wouldn't get. It was a pitiable sight so the child put him out of his suffering.

A large rock he had gripped in his hands rolled out of them, the sticky crimson waters staining his pale fingers. Octavian looked at the man's face only to take in the grotesque damages he had sustained. His skull had been beaten in, as consequence his left eye had sunken in and was bleeding profusely, the puddle expanded as if to reach for him.

To claim him.

Octavian made himself stand up and look at the dead man. Using the rusty dull blade he made sure to sever the vein and cut through the jugular as best as possible. The man would bleed to death first before he drowned in his blood.

Just like the deer, the man was still warm. Just like the deer, the man had emptied his bowels, the sour-sweet smell of urine gagging the air, and just like the deer, the man stared up to the empty grey skies.

Looking into the Calix's green eyes one last time he closed them, "You reckless... poor... pig..." Octavian wondered why tears came to his eyes as he beheld this grisly scene. "Why were you waiting for me in the grass like a snake...?"

After having searched the body he had found some coins (which he did not take) and a piece of paper, stained, but still legible.

 

_**Occidunt mulier et peur. Ut sicut ordo de Statu. Propter eam causam illi defensurum.** _

_**Quae capit . Non acquiescentes defectum, Catin...** _

_**gloriam eius,** _

_**Cassius Sypris Pectoris** _

 

That was what the strange writing scrawled across the hurried note said. "Well, that isn't helpful, is it..." the boy sighed and looked through the man's pockets some more, he knew it would only be a matter of time before the wolves smelled an easy meal. Octavian found nothing else on the man, but a golden ring.

A lion with black jeweled eyes stared back at him with no remorse for its wearer. "What does this mean...?" Uncontrollable shivers ran down his spine and made him gasp as the wind began to chill. It was still daylight, and yet, as the boy stood there, his clothes blood-sodden and his face pale with worry, he wondered why he felt colder than ever.

***

He dipped a bucket into the blackness and brought up some water from the pit that caught all the rain water from this past week. Moss had grown in the moist environment, creating a sort of pond complete with a flinty scent.

Harsh soap that stung and smelled of alkaline. It burned his skin but did not seem to cut into the filth deep enough, as the memory of the man's empty gaze and bloody mess of a skull was still fresh in his mind; cold rushed down on his naked body as the boy dumped the water over himself.

The soap could not clean his mind, so he would have to do it himself.

Standing there at the back of the house he looked at the dark forest that stared back at him with indifferent silence. The trees tall were erect like soldiers, proudly looking onwards. It had witnessed his act of murder. And it would keep his secret.

Throwing a thick towel made of animal hide over his wet wire thin shoulders, he shuddered, not only from the bone chilling wind that caressed his nakedness, but from fear and some strange sense of ...delight. The blood, he convinced himself, was quite beautiful to see. "Just roses... that were blooming... from his eyes and mouth..." He repeated blankly as warm tears rolled down his cheeks. A practiced soft smile laced unto his lips, "Just roses..."

And as he waited for his mother to return in the dampening afternoon, he put some red roses in a vase on the table. He watched earnestly as they wilted away through glassy blue eyes, the ice in them shattering and melting into nothingness. Their fallen crimson petals, coiling up as if they were in pain. A golden lion ring with black gem eyes stared up at him.

 

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_(Flowers are so tasty, at least... some are ^^)_

**Don't forget to leave Kudos and Comment, if you liked this chapter!  
I can't wait to hear what you all think! **

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**—————————————————————————————-**


	9. Athor's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chance for you guys to talk to me!  
> So fire away those questions, and I hope you all are in a chatty mood ^^

_**Author's Note** _

 

Hey there guys! I just want to check that one, I have at least one person reading this fanfic here, and two, that those who are are enjoying it so far.

I don't mind if I don't get a response in a month, anyone, anyone at all that runs across this story, please leave me a comment on this chapter telling me you are here reading. I hate to beg, but pretty please?

 

**Tell me about what you think about the story.**

 

  1. What do you think is going to happen?
  2. What ways I did I mess up?
  3. What do you not understand?
  4. What characters you like...



 

Even questions about me. I don't mind answering at all ^^

 

_Anyway, so that's the end of this Author's Note (there will be more to come every few chapters :3)._

_I wish all of you the best! Have an awesome day (whenever you are reading this)._

 


	10. WELL WELL WELL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never not expect the un-expected.  
> Because the unexpected is what'll kill ya.

**\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**  
\-- WARNING\--: | THIS CHAPTER HAS SCENES THAT CONTAIN VIOLENT/EXPLICIT CONTENT |  
{Rating= 5.5/10}  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

\- - -

 

A man with short dark russet hair and a large build came sauntering down the dirt road, his stride was slow enough for you to think he was taking a stroll, but powerful and meaningful enough for you to think he was not to be troubled.

The woods that banked both sides of this dirt road was not silent at all, in fact it was still murmuring its chanting lullaby of chattering birds and the symphony of cicadas.

The mornings were cooler than the nights now that it was summer, but that did not lighten his mood. He was supposed to find a young woman with dark hair and was of the East. He took this mission under the impression that it would have been easy, but she was harder to find than he thought.

He even heard that she was travelling with a young albino who dabbled in dark magic. Apparently the child desired blood to drink to extend his unnatural life to eternity. "Such bullshit should be banned from being spread in the ranks... those idiots believe anything they hear..." the brunette grumbled, slightly annoyed that his men, trained soldiers, were starting ridiculous rumors just because one of their best infiltrators had not come back with the Sybil.

Or at least with the woman's head on his spear.

He was hoping for the woman to be transported back alive really, as he did hear that she was very _very_ good in bed, among other things...

As he walked down the dirt road he glanced behind his back. "Third time..." He felt eyes watching him from the shrouded forest from the minute he had walked a mile into the woods, South West. The man hesitated as he saw the fork in the dirt, overgrown, grassy road. He licked his lip and sighed; frost cloud dissipating, he scratched the itchy stubble layered on his jaw.

"Help!" The sound of another voice made the soldier scan the area, his hand was on his sword, ready to attack. He heard it again, "Help!" A young boy ran to the streets, frantically yelling for help. Chuckling, the soldier waved.

"Oye! What makes you holler in the morning, boy?" His smile faltered when he came close. _Is that...?_ He asked himself.

"My mother, sir, please! Please help my mother." The young boy begged him, his face stained with tears as he sobbed.

"... Of course, show me what ails your mother?" The brunette couldn't believe his luck. He was worried that word had gotten out about his arrival in the village, but it seems that he was lucky. The boy had light golden hair and pale ghoulish skin as well as fair eyes. He fit the description his own soldiers were reciting so often.

_Did the boy really practice dark magic?_

'His skinny demeanor and sharp features were certainly odd', thought the man. After a few minutes of following the boy through bush, he lead him to what looked like a ruin. Stone walls and the cyclic floor were claimed by creepers and vines, he noticed a well and frowned. "What is this boy?"

"My mother, she fell in and hit her head, sir, please, would you help her?" The soldier remembered the Sybil. She had been rumored to be travelling with a child as pale as a ghost. An albino. He tried not the scoff and laugh when they boy referred to the beautiful woman he had heard about as his _mother_.

_Was that the lie they were going with?_

"I will get her out, but you must follow me down there."

"W-why?"

"Do you want to save your mother or not, boy?" His voice was harsh and impatient as he swerved around and barked at the pale boy; he was very glad when the little boy stiffened and headed for the well. The decent was dark and wet, the air heavy with moisture and cold, but he bore the discomfort well. He was a soldier after all.

When he finally was told that they were at the bottom, the brunette let go of the cobble-stone walls, and for a few exhilarating seconds he fell, feeling nothingness underneath him, and then. Thud. His feet hit water and then sand. "Where is your mother?" He thought the darkness of the well was to his advantage, allowing him to draw his sword without the pale boy noticing. "Boy?" He waded in the waist deep water.

"Yes." The sound of the frail and soft voice was behind him, "She is right in front of you, please help her!"

The soldier grinned and raised his sword as he felt something against his leg. He brought it down in a flash, but his sword bounced off with a ping and out of his hands, "What the-" His words were cut off by gurgling.

Blood gushed from his throat in time with his rapidly beating heart, breaths were harder to take in, and soon even his struggles gave way to stillness. His eyes were blank as they stared at nothing.

The young boy, soiled with blood and moss and muck that clung to his hair and clothes, got out of the well, placed the bloodied knife in the wheeling basket and walked away calmly.

As if nothing had happened.

He absent-mindedly brushed off most of the grime, but his focus was what he was turning in his small hands. A golden ring with a lion with bejeweled black eyes staring into nothingness sat in his palm.

"One more to go..." There was an unnerving underlying tone of acceptance in the child's voice as he sang softly something his mother used to sing him to sleep.

 

A limp body was dumped into the dark waters of the old well, but if you looked closely, down in its murky depths, you can see the fragments of rose petals floating atop, before they wilted and joined the rotting body beneath the surface the scent of life and bloom waft up the shaft.

Cold crimson exists not only as a color of roses, but of revenge.

 

 

\------------------------------

_(No this isn't a filler chapter. Chapter 4 is actually a really long chapter...)_

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**[Don't forget to vote and comment!]**

**\------------------------------**


	11. SNOW LADEN FORESTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt begins now.  
> May the forest of the earth keep watch, and the victorious lay drunk with the blood of those offered.  
> And killed.

**CHAPTER 05: SNOW LADEN FORESTS**

 

In retro-spec, he should have seen this coming. Nothing goes without consequence. And murder is no exception. Octavian was only hoping that this time, the consequence wouldn't be so... Painful.

 

Funny, that pain.

No, that wasn't right. It was anguish he was feeling.

The pain was coming from his chest as it threatened to explode; his heart suffocated below his ribs as he sank deeper into the inky blackness. Octavian almost wished that it would stop beating all together. As he pressed his back to the cold wall behind him he tried not to breathe.

Something was in here with him.

With his frayed senses he craned his neck to look at the blurry fire blazing in the background. Where was he? He looked around but all he saw was the skeletal remains of buildings reaching up angrily to the muddy-grey skies.

Like shards of broken glass they stabbed at it, as if avenging those loud voices that echoed fragmented in the muted darkness: all sad, moaning, and wailing in grief.

Octavian stiffened when he felt it again. The cold scraping of his back. It was as if someone took their fingernails and slowly ran them down his spine, except this time the fingernails left a lasting burn that he couldn't escape.

When it was over his bloody knees hit dirt as he panted and shuddered, his coughing soon turned into a spluttering dry heave. There was nothing but the choking smell of ash and death. The stench was overwhelming, but the sight of the bodies littering the streets was worse.

As he licked his dry lips he gagged and spat the dust that coated them unto the ground. Scrawny limbs forced themselves up and the boy, clutching his stomach, made his way through the devastated area; nothingness was his reward.

The constant voices in the silence made him shiver. He did not wish to think about them, but they kept creeping up behind him, their voices like tongues of fire, licked his ear and demanded his attention. "Die. Die. Burn. Burn." That was their chant. Some particularly bitter ghouls choosing only to scream "MURDERER!"

When Octavian tripped up on a sharp rock and fell on his knees once more, he began gingerly nursing the slice in his flesh between his right toe with his own quiet rancor..

He finally had enough.

They had made him cry when they dragged him under that sea of blood. They made him cry when they invaded his mind, their boney fingers prying into the exposed cracks. They made him cry as their piercing malicious alien eyes swarmed around him.

He begged and begged, but they were only concerned with their own hatred, their own grief, their own vengeance.

The boy forged forward, refusing to beaten and left to die- to sink- in the tarry-blackness of the shadows that enveloped the land. Soon the voices soon merged into emptiness and plunged him deeper within this freakish nightmare. Old tears stained his dirty cheeks, his eyes were dry and red. He stopped walking and faced the giant pulsing flame, "How am I a murderer!?" He cried out.

"MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!" As they persisted Octavian saw the background change from that of his burning city to the oasis; and near the waters stained with crimson were flies buzzing happily to and from the rotting flesh of a man on the river bank.

It changed.

Materializing, the scenes of horror extended to the forest which cradled the withering carcass of another man, the song of birds filled the air sweetly as leaves daintily fell from the stoic canopy.

And finally the well.

That time Octavian had been merciless.

The man's body was swarming with bugs that ate and ate until he- it- was just an unrecognizable blob of meat sitting in black soup of blood, grit and muddy-water. The sight gave him chills. "MURDER, MURDER, MURDERER ...!" The hoarse voices echoed the chant in the darkness.

"FINE!" The boy shook as he heard himself bellow out his answer, "I am a murderer..." he felt himself choke on his tears again. It was like someone yanked a plug out from a cracking dam. He only wanted to protect her. She was everything he had left that reminded him of home.

She is home.

And he wasn't going to let anything else happen to her. Nature would not rip this away from him, and certainly not the rages of men.

As he looked around the scene began to change, and instead of a swift pulsating motion, the unstable images fell into the shadows and seemed to be swept away by dry hot summer winds. Grains of sand grazed his cheek as it blew into his face.

A scene of sandy serenity, replaced by that of blackened misery prevailed before him. It was deathly silent. The sky was empty and bare blue, it was stark, but at least the sun was shining. Octavian suddenly looked up, panicking.

Should I be able to look straight into the sun?

"What-" He panted, sweat and exhaustion set in his aching bones as he stared up into the empty blue sky and gazed at the lone sun staring back at him. The sand was dry and were melting the soles of his feet, it shifted beneath him as something colossal, down below, slithered closer.

"Octavian..." It was another voice.

Someone's calling me...?

And though it seemed to echo with some urgency, all the boy could hear was the faint hiss that permeated the sand. Making it vibrate. "Octavian..." There it was again. A melodious, calm voice, it's tone more pressing than last time.

As the boy looked around he saw nothing but the vast sand ocean that ran for miles. The hissing was louder now, the sound travelled up his bones and made him tremble. "Octavian." And with that last resonating call he woke up.

Breathing was hard all of a sudden, almost as if his chest weighed a ton. He tried to lift his arms and legs and failed. As he stared up at the ceiling he sighed, heavy limbs wouldn't carry him far...

He turned to his side, borrowing deep into the blankets to shun the cold pale light of morning peeking out of the curtains, his stomach gargled and rumbled, and a soft sigh escaped his trembling lips, "And... I'm hungry... Great," he moaned exasperatedly as he tried to shake off the lingering fright of that nightmare, "Can't you wait a little while longer..."

A feisty growl was his answer: No.

"...Of course not... Because that would be ridiculous..."

The room was still dark, but only because the thick curtains were the only thing keeping in the warmth and silence of night despite the rising morning. As the boy slowly inched to the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet on the ground, ice shot up his nerves, causing him to gasp and shiver. He retreated back in the safe blankets, "Why is it so cold!?" He exclaimed through chattering teeth.

After a few agonizingly hungry minutes the boy sighed and jumped out of bed; shuffling quickly across the wooden floors he made his way to the window and yanked the curtains open. Brilliant White shone through, piercing his eyes. Blankets of nature, white and pure and soft, spread over the greenery that was once there a few days ago.

Icicles hung like decorations on the dark woodland trees, their evergreen sprinkled with due and frost of the misty air, even though there was the occasional plummet of a water droplet off of a leaf, bouncing off one after the other, everything seemed quite still.

Only the chirping birds that flittered to and fro reminded Octavian of his nightmare.

The small sparrows were singing happily over his head when he bludgeoned that man to death in the forest's confidentiality, and as he stared out into the bright white he shivered finally as the cold nipped at his skin eagerly. "Snowing... Already?" The blonde inhaled the crisp sharp air and closed his eyes, but, his forced serenity was interrupted by his growling belly, "Fine, right, I need to eat."

In just a few minutes he had made himself something to eat, preferring something simple as he was so sluggish. He inhaled the bread and cheese, downing everything with milk, and prepared for another one of his little adventures. Finishing his chores was the boring part, but he didn't have many so it didn't bother him that much.

Once he was finished with his bed he stuffed bread and cheese wrapped in waxy paper into his bag, along with a knife, a pencil, a bundle of small pure white flowers that he saved in a small bag, and a make-shift map that he made of the area.

He had several now. Each one he circled and made an X across the place he killed one of the mercenaries, or 'soldiers', or whatever they decided to call themselves, and with each cross he noticed that they all came from one direction.

South West.

The mercenaries had circled and cut into the woods for cover before making their way into town to gain information on their location. Octavian frowned as he examined his newest map.

There were crosses everywhere, it was hard not to say that he was getting a little obsessed... "I'll stop for today... Maybe I can go see if the wolves are near the northern region..." but even as the boy said this and traced the path he would take with his finger, his blue eyes wandered over to the large circle on his right.

He had set traps in all the other areas but that one. That small area of bush was yet to be checked. "No." Blonde hair swept over his brow and eyes slightly as the boy shook his head, "Wolves. You are looking for wolves." Chanting this to himself he shouldered his pack and headed out the door.

Trudging on through the snow, the boy found a tree to take a break under, he panted, shivering when he saw the soft mist that was his breath. He blew into his hands in a futile attempt to warm his numb fingers. "So you guys weren't back there..."

Octavian talked to himself as he scratched off the area which he circled, "so where else would you be...?" The wolves had moved. Octavian knew that they would only relocate themselves if a predator threatened their young so as he packed up his stuff and headed where he last saw the wolves he kept an eye out for any signs of something stalking in the bushes. He wanted to catch a glimpse of this predator.

His fingers grasped at the thorny bushes and pulled them apart, it revealed nothing unusual really, just some scraps of carcass that the wolves did not eat and some broken twigs. His blue eyes scanned the area, but he sighed after a few minutes, "What could you possibly be running from...?" There was a hint of mockery in his voice as he smiled, "You are wolves, but I guess that doesn't mean you aren't dogs too..."

"Ah, but wolves are very different from dogs." The boy spun around, his heart caught in his throat as he withheld a gasp. There was a young man leaning on a tree behind him. His soft smile contrasted greatly with his piercing copper-brown eyes.

"How long have you been there?" The question tumbled out of half trembling lips.

"Now I know the stories are true." The brunette stepped closer, ignoring the boy's question. And with each step forward the boy compelled himself to step back, his pale blue eyes watched the man for any sudden movements. He continued to talk, obviously unconcerned about Octavian, "Your face is as white as a ghoul's," a smile laced with perfectly white teeth gave the blonde shivers, "Now, I wonder if impaled ghouls bleed..."

There was a glimmer in the man's eyes that frightened Octavian. He knew by how the guy walked and talked that he was well respected. The golden lion ring on his finger would have revealed his rank, but Octavian could not spot any rings on the stranger whatsoever.

What's a respected man doing in the woods so early in the morning?

Octavian thought of all the other 'respected' men that he'd met for the past month and tried not to look as worried as he felt-

After all... he was only ever able to kill them out of convenience... forest, wells, wet banks... all he did was use the environment against his opponent, he never accomplished anything by brute force.

And as he eyed the dagger the stranger twirled effortlessly, Octavian decided that he didn't want to stick around to chat.

"Um, yes, that is an... interesting question..." Octavian held up the whites of his hands and tried to look genuinely apologetic, "Sorry to say this, but, I personally would have no idea if ghouls bleed... Never met one. Never stabbed one..." With each pause he backed away slowly. He would have bolted if the brunette didn't say something strange. He swore he recognized it for a second.

"Aut vincere, aut mori," the smile on the man's face reminded Octavian of a snake's. Or... his own whenever he had one-upped anything he hunted.

"So... I am guessing that means we can't be friends...?"

"Are you insane?" The soldier went on, laughing at the boy, "I am the son of Zeus, I cannot and will not be friends with the likes of you," he raised a brow, "and besides I fail no mission. You will not be a distraction."

The boy covered his mouth to hide the smile forming underneath. "What?" He asked barked.

"Nothing, nothing-"

"You will tell me now! Other than your inevitable death by my hand, what is so funny, fool?" He spat the words with contempt glowing in his bright eyes.

"...Ah, it's nothing really... I just find it hard to believe you."

There was silence. "How dare you!-"

"How dare I?" The boy snorted, "I know of your gods. I do not think such a measly insignificant young boy can be the son of the great-Zeus," apparently mockery did not sit too well with the soldier, as Octavian spoke he could see his nostrils started to flare.

"Sorry, I just don't see the family resemblance." He shrugged, "Do not be disheartened, people used to think I was the son of a Cyclops--"

"That's not the same thing!" The man shouted at Octavian. Stomping his foot as if he was a toddler not getting his way. "My father--"

"--Has not claimed you." The soldier's mouth snapped shut. His copper brown eyes glared at him immediately after recovering from Octavian's words. It were as if he had slapped him in the face.

The boy continued. "You are not a son to anyone unless they accept you." Octavian's voice trembled as well as his clenched fists. "It is tradition, no?" His words lingered in a mocking echo as the he ran away from the scene.

Octavian didn't want to have anything to do with that man. Swiftly making his way through the bushes he started to slow down to a brisk jog. If anything, he was annoying, he lacked focus, and he was too chatty. The boy stopped running and heaved a sigh.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The sing-songy tone of the stranger's voice gave Octavian the creeps. Blood left his cheeks as they paled. Remembering now, he realized that that demigod-wannabe was the predator the wolves were afraid of. And now he actually managed to anger it. He stooped behind a tree, trying to pant as quietly as possibly as he hid.

It was then he realized how much danger he was actually in.

Everything was shaking now, his hands trembled and his knees felt like they were going to run away and leave the rest of his body behind. There was nothing but the sound of leaves fluttering in the wind, but Octavian knew better than to let his guard down.

The birds had stopped singing, which could only mean something dangerous was creeping in the shadows.

White fingers gingerly took the dagger from the satchel and gripped the hilt; his heart was beating so hard that he was afraid the man would hear it. The blood pounding in his ears didn't make things any easier. "Fine." He glared at the shaking dagger that reflected back his own pale face, shattered blue eyes and all.

"Let the hunt begin."

Counting to three he raced off once again, but this time to lead the man to the traps he set. He only hoped that he could get there in time. Enraged chops of a blade battering through bushes made the boy run faster.

Small footprints sunk the pure white snow into muddy puddles, revealing the dead leaves if only for a moment before the snow tumbled over their earthy carcasses. The footprints lead into the forest. There the birds sang and chatted idly and the green leaves of towering trees dripped with chilling due. It was here that heavy footprints traced the smaller ones.

Deeper and deeper into the woods.

The forest's overwhelming size and stature bent with slumber still, even as morning's light pierced the high branches and filtered through the canopy, light green fractures splintering unto the wet ground. The air was still and chill, and the snow was a blanket across the woodland. The small sparrows the only ones to wake in the early light and sing of sweet pleasure and ease.

Yes. The forest slept. Throughout her vast expanses very few creatures were able to stir in this quiet woodland laden with snow; even the screams of a pitiless talion couldn't be heard through the muffled yawn of nature.

Yet, this white blanket She so daintily adorned upon herself, pined for the harsh bright colors of war. As the colorful pigments that once flourished in splashes across the bushes and grasses were now muted by whitened grey and buried underneath the icy snow. It pined for crimson blooms.

It pined for murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _______________________________________________________  
> [Question of the Week: "Why are small bird's songs the most touching?"]
> 
> "Two turtle doves will show thee  
> Where my cold ashes lie  
> And sadly murmuring tell thee  
> How in tears I did die" ~ Nicolai Gogol
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to give kudos and comment if you liked this chapter! ;3  
> \------------------------------


	12. THE SILVER THREADS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes persisitence is key...  
> Key to death!

**CHAPTER 06: THE SILVER THREADS**

 

You see, it wasn't distance that was the problem. Octavian, could always run long distances. It was the _speed_. He had to force it out of his weary muscles and it always managed to set him up for failure. It was another thing that he still hadn't learned-- maybe he refused to. The things your good at, you stick with, because it's all you can do. 

And right then, as he ran through the woods, swerving around trees and hopping over their raised roots, his breathing wasn't exactly his strong point.

Octavian coughed in his arm as silently as he could as he slide in slushy mud, before slamming his back to a tree to listen for the tell-tale-signs of his chaser. 

He hated it when he couldn't breathe. 

As he ran again, his heart pounding in his chest. Bounding through the bushes and slippery mud of the forest floor, he wondered where he could take another break. Between the running and barely dodging random thrashes of a heavy-handed blade, he had kept ahead of his chaser, but now he was slowing down. "Maybe he was not as angry as I thought..."

The soldier definitely wasn't leaving anything to mystery, "You _COWARD_!" The voice of his pursuer bellowed behind him.

 "Okay... he's _very_ angry..." The blonde skidded to a halt and held his breath. The bushes behind him broke away, leaves and twigs skittering to the side as the soldier exploded from the bushes, sword in fist raised high and warrior scream etched into his merciless face.

Dark eyes scanned the area hastily, but when Octavian flung a pebble a distance away the sound captured their attention. So Octavian just stood there, hidden behind the trees (so thankful for his slenderness), wondering whether to laugh or cringe at the sight of his enemy barreling in hot pursuit, of well— no one.

Though, the sounds of him cursing and enthusiastically hacking away at trees made it clear to the boy, that soldier or not, that man was a pain in the ass. He needed to go.

One, heartbeat, two, heartbeat, three, heartbeat— and so the boy continued.

As soon as his heart rate calmed, he swiftly hid behind a large tree, checking his position and then moved on to the next tree. And so the hunter, unbeknownst to the situation, who had already fallen victim to arrogance, became the prey. 

Octavian stalked him from a distance, his dagger clenched tightly in his white-knuckled fist; after a few minutes he lost visual, but calculated that his big sword-swinging friend should be within the radius.

On his map he had landmarks, each one with specific relation to one another. The area was a giant woodland, but there were god-sized trees in the middle, and an under-hanging cliff that stretched out like a cow's tongue a few miles east of the center. He had explored that area before.

The cliff was not stable so he marked it on his map as a Danger Zone, with a big fat red X. He also marked off the other interesting places he ran across during his little explorations (the wolf hunting ground, creatures-cave, bird brook, etc.).

Usually, the blonde made it a habit to avoid places with a minimal survival rate, but under the circumstances, he figured he didn't mind paying those special zones a visit.

They were headed for the center but at the moment, were closest to the cliff. Octavian guessed that they had to be close enough now and slowed down. "Let him rampage a little longer... I need him exhausted..."

Inhaling deeply, he realized how bone-chillingly cold the morning air was now. He glanced up and saw that the sky was still dark, empty of first morning light, and felt a calm curdle over his worry.

_Maybe this one will be quicker... The forest will hide the body..._

His nostrils burned and his throat felt scratchy. As if someone freeze-dried it the way his mother and him did with the fish they caught. Covering his mouth, he muffled a cough, and with disgust he spat out the slime unto the snow.

He cleared his throat as silently as he could, forcing back down the urge to dry heave and instead he focused above.

Ice crystals draped the tree branches like ancient ice ornaments, above him, he noticed how the light shone through them, individually casting a rainbow unto the blank snow.

The forest seemed docile enough now that the birds finally flittering about and found it safe enough to return to their idle chatter; Octavian's knees buckled and he slid down into the white. Hoping that it would engulf him.

_It's okay here, bird songs equal safety._

Usually.

Cold sweat beaded his forehead. "Why did I bring this upon myself..." he reverted back to his native tongue. Loving the comfort that entwined that old Summer nostalgia with every word as he spoke it softly. He missed the Arabic syllables.

He missed the cool nights, the warm blankets, the markets that sold the chilled sweet plums in the heat of the day... Heck, he even missed the people that ignored him. Octavian remembered them. In the days when he snuck out, the old folk would chide him, scold him harshly for leaving the house if they saw him. 

But then... they'd always let him go. If he told them-- and truthfully mind you-- exactly where he was going and when he'd be back, then he'd get some dried dates (the sweet-tarty kind that only the elderly can seem to make). Always sending him off with a pat on the head, an errand or two, and a few parting words about, 'increasing the prospects of making sure your mother knows where you are'.

Suddenly, he felt warmth, gliding down his cheek. After he brushed the tear away, his pale fingers came into view, stained with blood. Had he cut his cheek running into the bushes? "What am I doing here...?" Brazen-masked, he wiped another tear away with his sleeve and rubbed his reddening nose.

Madness sunk its claws into his flesh and pulling him deeper. Startled by the sudden flash of fear, so familiar, he gasped. It took him deeper and deeper into a memory littered with dead eyes, screams, _fire_... "Stop it!" Shaking himself, a few droplets of melted snow adorning his messy blonde hair showered around him, and he held his shoulders.

"You're going mad... stop it. Forget." His lip trembled, "Forget everything. Please..." He was even talking to himself. Forcing out a nervous laugh, he said, "Careful Octavian, any more of this and you'll end up like those beggars in town..." He shook his head one more time and sighed, "That used to be in town anyway..." 

Frost clouds hypnotically swirled and evaporated into nothingness, as he exhaled. Blue eyes closed themselves to the world as he slowed his breathing even further, "There is no one here" he whispered to himself, "No one here..." The assurance was thin but he had to calm down. He'd have another fit if he weren't careful and be at even more of a disadvantage.

In the darkness of his eyelids a flash of light caught his attention. They flew open as he broke out of his meditation with a start. 

 _What was that?_  

The birds had evacuated, the forest was silent, and the snow was white. Octavian hoped that it was just his imagination, but the bright blanket of snow seemed to pulse angrily _...Hungrily_. As if it pined for something to stain its pure surface. 

Blood. 

Octavian felt like he couldn't breathe. The snow wanted blood. He didn't know how he came to that conclusion, but he was sure of it. The trees were empty and the air was mute, causing the blonde to panic. Frantically scanning the area, he forced himself to get up.

The loud crunch and snap of a stick echoed through the bush. Octavian rushed away from the tree too quickly and stumbled backward. And upon falling on his butt, he unfortunately discovered a patch where the snow had covered a sink just in-between two upraised roots of the tree. He had hit the earth with a grunt, but when he looked up, the surface level of snow was high above his head.

His breathing grew heavier. The fog of cold mist appearing just as fast as it dissipated, as he crawled backwards. His eyes scoured the dark shadows of the trees desperately. He managed to get up, though, weighed down by his sodden clothes. Ice-water trickled into is open palm and he shivered violently.

The snow had melted and hung as slush or water within the thick fabric, but still seemed to freeze his naked skin underneath. "Damn it." He coughed through chattering teeth, "Damn it," he continued to look around and saw nothing but white frosted woods, he heard nothing but the sound of his own haggard breathing.

He jumped, or rather scrambled, out of the earthy trap covered by snow. And holding himself, he tried to start back up his mantra, but found that he couldn't even force the words from his quivering lips.

"Damn it _all_!" He lifted his hands to his face to warm them but stopped half-way. In horror he stood there with his trembling hands. Pale skin had turned blue and black, glistening with a sickly yellow were the skin wrinkled at the torn edges of the cuts.

Flashes of fire and screaming echoed in his head, whistling through the air as if they were real; then came the blood. Bodies strewn on the ground, scattered in the fray and chaos.

Now, as the boy hyperventilated and drifted away from that world, the only red he saw was the fresh blood that was just beginning to clot around the wound. _His_ wound. A small but frighteningly deep gash across his palm stared back at him.

Octavian tried to focus on what was relevant. His hands were numbing— and with so many cuts littering them, it was a wonder he didn't realize it. With access to his open flesh, his blood dried up and ice crept in, taking refuge within his veins.

The cold had already began eating away the remaining nerves in his left hand that actually tried to respond to pain or stimulus. ' _I have to get moving_ ', he told himself, his right hand, was starting showing signs of freezing over and it was only a matter of time before he turned into a skinny icicle.

His limbs weighed a ton, growing heavier and heavier with each step. Anxiety pulsed within his blood, increasing with every whine-ish cackle that trickled out from the bushes; those same bushes either rustled their leaves or conveniently snapped a twig whenever he felt safe.

In other words, they completely shrouded the troublemaker(s) in shadowy obscurity as they romped and scurried about, apparently amused by Octavian's terror.

Surely that was not a good combination—Snapping twigs and anxiety.

Of course, there was a possibility that Octavian was going mad, but he didn't want to think about that right now. Expecting death at every turn was _much_ more interesting. _'Besides'_ , the boy thought, ' _down here, the wolves rule the forests, not the sole lion... They hunt the hunters_...'

" _We_ , hunt the hunters..." He spoke reassuringly to himself.

Octavian moved on, working his screaming muscles to death as he trudged through the snow and slowly made his way out of the clearing. Ignoring the crunch of slush and ice underfoot, he swiftly snaked around the trees, running as fast as he could north. 

The cottage was just a mile away. "Maybe he just left for home..." He thought out loud. The hoarse voice frightened the boy when he realized it was his own. Still he strained his ears against the quiet.

Snow gave way to another clearing, the bright white was finally interrupted by the abrupt glare of green. Leaves and undergrowth, that were sheltered from the snow by high branches, spread away from the deep forest.

The forest center was a bleak and white world, but as soon as you arrived at its outer circle, nature seemed to melt into view, all lightly sprinkled with light powdery snow. Octavian settled here for a while, leaning on a tree that faced the center of the forest. Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to stop shivering.

Glancing up, he noticed that the sun was high, and morning was just about finished. And yet the sun stood still. Its unwavering gaze made the boy uneasy. So he ignored it.

It took a while, but pins and needles pricked his hands, fingers, toes, cheeks, and other delicate parts, signaling the return of— **PAIN**! With a thud, he stumbled back into the tree he had once leaned on. The impact jarred his bones, but he didn't care. All he could do was try and keep his racing heartbeat from exploding his chest while he cradled his left hand.

It was shaking and was clasped tightly, as if by reflex. So as he, gingerly, opened it up, he sucked air through his teeth and tried not to whimper. Octavian just wanted to go home, drink some tea, curl up underneath his nice warm covers and die.

Heck, even now, as he sat in the snow, his body shuddering violently, he wanted to settle for grass, dead leaves and frozen ground for his pillow. Those moldy dead leaves looked pretty soft right now in his state.

Suddenly, ice blue eyes looked up sharply. Did someone just call to him? An unexpected gust of wind bustled about in the still air, carrying the scent of dust and sea.

Strangely. It suddenly picked up, increasing in speed and unkempt wildness, and in seconds, swept some dead, moldy, leaves in his face—those same dead moldy leaves that he was fantasizing into a pillow. 

He frowned, "Okay... Fine. Why don't you just make a branch fall on me, huh?" His frail voice called out to the brightening skies; as he panted he heard it again and swiftly turned to his right.

Nothing.

Nothing but dark trees standing in salute to each other, muffling the cries of the beasts that traveled in their ranks. "Thank you _so_ much for that scare!"

 "You're welcome." Blue eyes widened at the sight of the man emerging from behind a tree, sword drawn and ready. Too late was the message received by his hands and feet. They were slow. As if somehow the air turned into tar.

 

\- - -

 

_**Sorry for such a long wait for the next chapter! I completely lost my password for this account!!!! Merry (late) Christmas!!!!!!!!!!! Wish you all a happy new year! :)** _

_**Questions: What was your best christmas moment?** _

__


	13. THE SILVER THREADS [PART 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2... Commence!
> 
> (I am so so sorry for the late upload!!! Hope you all still remember me, lol)

**CHAPTER 06: THE SILVER THREADS [PART 2]**

 

 

"You're welcome." Blue eyes widened at the sight of the man emerging from behind a tree, sword drawn and ready. Too late was the message received by his hands and feet. They were slow. As if somehow the air turned into tar. 

Handle met face at a frightening speed and, crack! — As a result of the force, the blow to his jaw sent him hurling into the snow. It was at that moment, the boy thought, 'I should have just stayed in bed this morning...'

"Mmmfhh," a muffled whimper escaped his cold lips as the heat of the pain across his cheek leaked out into the snow, the wound was licked by ice crystals, as the snow, eagerly drank his blood.

Quickly wiping away the scarlet sludge off his cheek, he tried to get up but his leg failed him. He started crawling, but his arms ached. Hearty laughter echoed behind him. "Boy, did you really think that I could have lost you that easily? I am the son of Zeus. I lose no fight."

The boy's frantic soon died down to reveal exasperated desperation; everything that he did lead to this moment. He couldn't afford any mistakes. Octavian struggled to his feet and faced the soldier with seeming acceptance, "Okay, son of Zuzzi...— whatever his name is— Oh, oh, I mean Seuss?"

"Zeus! You empty-headed dog!" The soldier interrupted.

"Okay! Fine. You win..." Spitting out the salty blood from his busted lip into the snow he looked the man in the eye, "Kill me." The right of his face was glowing with red hot pain, and blood began to cake over on his face, but it was like sticky syrup on his black and blue fingers, it ran down his hands in small drying streams.

With the dirt and grass in his hair and on his face, he guessed that the soldier probably thought he was a beggar trying to kill him for his valuables. "I have nothing else to live for..." The blonde started sewing together the story. Giving the soldier hints that this pathetic dirty beggar was all he was. "My life has been that of a rat, nothing more... I have made a mistake trying to kill you—"

"And what for? To sell the little things I have—?"

"Those little things, are worth more than my life." The contempt in Octavian's voice surprised him (as well as the soldier), but he went on, "Those little things, would have made my life easier. Much easier..." As he spoke, the boy dug his fingers into his stomach, "I am so tired of being hungry, so tired of being cold... But there was nothing I could do..."

The soldier frowned and scoffed, "I feel no sympathy for those who wish to kill me."

A groan lead to a coughing laugh and then to a weak shudder, hugging himself for warmth the boy rolled his eyes, "Don't take it personally. I see opportunity. I take it." He rubbed his red nose and sniffled, "Anyone would do the same thing." Octavian emulated the beggars he saw on their travels, he copied their broken speech, their estranged mannerisms, like licking their lips too often or darting his eyes around.

The soldier seemed to buy into his act as he looked at him with disgust, "Stop your griping. Maybe I will kill you, for wasting my time."

"I was asking for that in the first place..." The soldier came closer, a glare that could melt iron glowed in his direction but Octavian did not move, instead he continued to talk with an empty gaze looking onward to the forest, "Oy. What were you doing here anyway? I heard... I heard soldiers were looking for these people who escaped..."

"That is none of your concern."

"Oh? But it is. It is if you want it to be... Maybe I can help you, for a small fee I can— ". The man advanced and Octavian held up his left hand, its scrawny scarred form trembled, "I swear, I can find them! They should be around here... somewhere—"

The man laughed. "Somewhere?" The soldier gripped the boy's collar roughly, shaking him around like a rag doll. Octavian kept his eyes on the forest, bracing himself for another hit. "Boy, all are destined to die. For one so young to die at my hand, would be a tragedy, yes?"

Those benevolent words were as cold and sharp as ice, but a thin barrier that barely held back the burning flames of malevolence within the man's wrathful eyes. Octavian knew better. "I do not like killing children."

Lies. This was not mercy killing. No. That insatiable lust for blood and violence glowing in the man's eyes were as unmistakably as any flame in the night.

That flickering fire slowly ate away at the man's reserve. Refusing to be denied. Octavian tried a sheepish grin, and Thwack! The boy lurched forward, clutching at his stomach, tears pricking his dry eyes. He moaned.

On his knees he heaved and sputtered as the warm, bitter, liquid rushed up his throat, but didn't get a chance to finish, another blow from the man's boot smashed his head, twisting it to the side and he crumpled into the slushy mess.

His right arm tucked underneath him, he struggled to move away as the footsteps got closer and closer. A heavy boot dug into the back of his neck. Forcing him to breathe snow and dirt into his starved lungs, he gasped and muttered something, the weight was crushing him. The soldier spat, "What? I couldn't hear that. Say again?"

"...G-Get off, ovff, me!" Octavian was reward with a stomp on his back that sent him into a murmuring shock; he cried out, but then bit his lip hard enough to summon blood from their blue shivering vessels. "Get off of me! - Ah! I am sorry, I am sorry, please... Please. I-I'll do anything!" Gulping down the bile, he coughed, "Please, just let me live. I will take you to that lady... Her son should be somewhere around here!" When he felt the pressure ease off his spine he slowed his hysteric breathing and closed his eyes, tears streaking his ghastly cheeks.

He fell for it... huh?

"What?" The soldier snickered, "You useless dog!" He laughed at Octavian and allowed him to lift his head up from the snow. Swaggering with his sword, he pointed it accusingly at him and raised a brow, "So you sell out others to enemies? No wonder you're alone."

Now that hurt, Octavian flinched and it seemed to catch the brunette's attention, he bent down and made him look him in the eye, slowly he spoke to him, as if he were an idiot, "No one loves traitors. They will be punished in Tartarus... I hear fire is reserved for the traitors."

Small lips trembled, maybe it was because of the cold, or maybe, it was because deep down, Octavian knew the soldier was right. Not about him selling out anyone— the soldier was just being a cocky bastard—but the fact that he was very much alone really hit home. He was alone. Or at least he felt that way a lot recently.

"No one likes liars either..." He weakly suggested.

"...Yeah?" A grin showcased perfect teeth, "Everyone lies you rat."

"I guess so..." Octavian felt the man's grip on his chin loosen, he pulled it free and rubbed it tentatively, "I will take you to the boy first." Again he spat out some blood from his mouth.

Repulsed, the soldier wrinkled his nose and nodded, "Hurry up. I don't have all day." He shoved him forward with his sword hilt, ramming it into the boy's back to make him walk faster.

"Alright, alright!" Octavian lead the man through the snow towards the cottage, and while they traveled into the forest, the soldier found it necessary to poke him in his back with the blade every few moments or so to remind him that betrayal would mean certain death—as if he didn't know that already.

A small smile made its way onto his lips. He knew that betrayal would be rewarded with death, but of course, those glowing eyes in the bushes knew nothing about betrayal. Just death. "You know..." The boy glanced up at the soldier behind him, "You really should be nicer to the people who help you."

"You tried to kill me."

"Oh, you are a blunt one, aren'tchya..." Octavian added in his thoughts, 'blunt in intelligence too...' He continued speaking after kicking aside a stone that he tripped on, "Well, that was before we knew each other so well—". He slowed down and glanced behind him.

"Walk!"

"I am! I am, calm down." Octavian tottered forward when the man shoved him. "It was just an idea." Octavian flicked a strand of hair out of his eye, "And besides. We were both trying to kill each other— watch out for that root there—"

The man quickly glanced down and stepped over the large tree root. "Yeah, I know."

"—this bush just gets thicker and thicker from here on out. A very good hiding spot, if you ask me—"

"I didn't ask you, so shut up."

"Woooow. You know what you remind me of?" The boy could hear a sharp, irritated, sigh behind him and that made him smile. "You remind me of... one of those kids who end up catching the end of their own blade."

It was then that the soldier erupted with anger. "What?" His sharp copper brown eyes bore holes into the boy's back. If there was any chance of living after escorting the soldier, it was just chopped down to zero. "I let you live to lead me to the boy—"

"—Who is probably well aware of our presence now because of your yelling."

A rough hand gripped the cloth, and a little bit of skin, around his chest, as the man pulled him within in ear-shot and whispered, "I let you live. Me. If I wanted to kill you for insulting me, then what makes you think I will hold back?"

"You are holding back now." After a few seconds of silence the man slammed the blonde into a tree, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, "Ugh, alright kid--"

"I'm not a child! You are the child! So why don't you act like one and obey my orders?"

"Because unlike you, this child knows where to go. And this child has a plan, other than just barging in and waving blades around like a drunken fool!" Octavian snarled, his mad blue eyes unwavering. He whispered, "That's what you want right? To finish this and go home?"

A nod from the soldier confirmed Octavian's suspicions: the soldier was going to go home, relay the information he had collected about the country he occupied, and then in a few months a platoon of soldier would be knocking at the country's door.

Well, burning... They'd be burning the country's door.

And its crops, its livestock, its houses, and the people... He could almost imagine their numbers, much rumored, to be enough to wipe out a whole city.

Swallowing hard, he forced the ball of bad memories into a corner and locked it away in the recesses of his mind. This was no time to think about stuff like that. With his suspicions being correct, he figured that killing him and his mother was just a side job... Meaning those two other countries that they fled, probably already had soldiers bearing down on their borders. Or invading them.

"Hey." The soldier shook the boy.

Octavian scowled. Why didn't his mother tell him anything?

"Hey, kid?" The soldier patted his cheek.

The boy didn't understand. Why did his mother not tell him something so important? All the secrecy, the 'jobs' in town, the reason she always came home late, all the whispering whenever they both went shopping and she went off on her own to 'talk'... It all made sense now.

She was gathering information on the soldiers as much as the soldiers were gathering information about them, and the country. Gritting his teeth, the solider yelled, "Hey! Kid." Octavian snapped out of it and found himself being shaken by the shoulders and looking into the soldier's sharp eyes. "I lost your attention."

The young man began, "Maybe I shall put you out of your misery. Your mind is as broken as your body." Shoving the man away, the blonde brushed himself off. He was just about to say something when a rustle in the bushes reminded him that his 'friends' wouldn't wait any longer for their present.

Octavian could sense them, their eyes, their blood-lust, and their hunger. The blonde's mad blue eyes swirled. He saw something. He was so sure of it. Silver? No. Yes. It was silver. Lines, strands of it, wrapping around his wrist and the soldier's neck, they pulsated and spoke in so many words and voices at the same time his brain felt like it was going to melt.

"What is WRONG with you!?" The man tossed him aside, but the boy kept upright, tears running down his face as he held his head, enduring the excruciating pain. The threads were tightening, they were so thin, they were like spider webs. Octavian was half expecting to see a giant black spider pulling the strings like a puppet master up in the dark trees.

Then, his thoughts stopped. All in an instant. Gone. No pain, no silver threads, and no voices. Hyperventilation had taken place without Octavian's knowledge, so he tried to calm himself down by taking deep breathes. If he didn't he knew he would black out.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he shivered. Words that the soldier had previously said now started to float into his head, but weren't registering, the forest seemed still now as it began snowing lightly. Vacant blue eyes regarded the soldier frostily and—

Smiled madly.

 

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_[ **Week's Question:** "What's your favorite thing to do when it snows?"]_

(Quotes are over-rated... NOT!)

**Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to leave kudus and comment! ;3**

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	14. WOLF CONQUERS LIONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the wolf defeats the lion, it takes its prize and swallows it...  
> The ring sits cold in its hollowing stomach.

**WOLF CONQUERS LIONS**

 

"Well, well, well, I didn't know you cared so much for me." Octavian spoke curtly as he watched the man. The soldier drew his sword and turned it towards the boy. "Okay... is that a yes or a no?"

"A _no_! It was a mistake to let such an idiot lead me... No wonder my father hasn't given me victory yet. I have been following the lead of an ass. If I— no, I know if I continue this game with you I will disgrace my father." His copper brown eyes took the light of the mute sun, I cannot allow that to happen."

After that hearty speech Octavian clapped, causing the man's left eye to twitch. He stopped, his blank gaze staring at the young man in front of him, "Disgrace, huh?"

"Yes. Something I am _sure_  you do not understand." There was a small up-turn of the corner of his lips, "

"...I wouldn't say that-"

"And why not? You are a dog. A pitiless, useless, ugly, dog. You cannot and will not become anything else for the rest of your life. Worst of all you are alone. What disgrace and shame could you bring to anyone?!" The soldier held his sword firmly, his grip making a squeaking noise as it tightened on the leathery hilt. Disgust distorted the man's face, "Except for that witch you call mother... I have heard many things about her... manly that the underworld gave birth to her and disowned her... Her power to trap men in her gaze is well known." When the silence weighed heavily on the boy's thoughts, the soldier advanced.

Octavian stepped closer and shook his head when the young man paused and raised his sword. He couldn't believe that he would be that tall, war-able, and mature in just a few years— _if_   he were lucky. And knowing his luck, he had better chances of turning to ash. And yet, this soldier, this young man in front of him, radiated but one thing despite his impressive stature. Desperation to prove himself. "What have you to fear?"

The sword remained in the air, "Spies. Enemies at every turn. War is not easily won... There are sacrifices to be made. Always." He growled.

After some silence the boy nodded and decided to risk a question, "You were there weren't you. There in that city that burnt down?" He circled the edgy brunette, his hands held behind his back, "You were one of the soldiers that helped bring down the Persian Empire-"

"And I am still needed there. They just tossed me an assignment... t-to infiltrate the country." He stuttered as his teeth chattered. "I am needed in the next battle."

"Are you certain...? You seem... unsure to me." When there was no answer Octavian stretched and yawned. They were at the edge of the dark forest, near the vast plain of snow and ice-a frozen lake maybe. Octavian had called it Wolf Plain on his map. The blonde squinted his eyes to look at the sun, glaring down at them. As if it were angry. "Anyway... I have no reason to think that I am not just some dog. But you are wrong to think that I have no one to disgrace." Icy eyes looked into brown ones, "I have myself to disgrace... "

There was the crunching sound of snow behind him, then an erupting warrior cry that left the boy frozen in shock. The man had charged, his sword was bronze and glinting in the sunlight, coming down at him in full force. Octavian dodged, narrowly, falling back and stumbling into a bush. "I have myself to disgrace too. I will not let that happen!"

"Calm down!" Octavian held up his hand, secretly palming his dagger that he rubbed with the white petals a few chases back. Back when things were so simple and he just had to hide behind trees.

"You are blinded by the past's brittle appearance. You think that city was safe? A place to call home? It was a city that defied Greece, and therefore a city filled with _tyrants_!" The soldier laughed, but it was short-lived and ill-tempered, "Boy, you are a fool. In a world ruled by Greece, there can be no tyrants. Or fools for that matter. All must be under Greece's control." As the young man's babbling grew more hysterical, Octavian wondered if this was what it was like becoming a soldier.

He hoped not.

When his attacker charged again, Octavian swiftly evaded the blade's swipe, taking the soldier by surprise, and giving himself an opportunity. He took it. Right in the man's arm, the vein that fed its muscles, the boy gave it a deep prick and quickly made distance between him and the bewildered soldier. "You stabbed me...!" The man lurched from side to side as he began swinging and trying to decapitate the young boy, growing more and more incapable of keeping his stance. "Wha-what did you... to me...?" He crumpled to his knees. Exhaustion taking its hold.

"To answer your previous question. No." Octavian strolled over to the man, an occasional droplet of blood plummeted from his short dagger, staining the snow below. "I see only the _best_ in people and places, or what could possibly be there, if not present now. If I must confess to you, I am not blinded by the past. I am blinded by something much greater-"

"Fool-heartedness? Because, this world cannot afford anymore fools."

"True. But no, wrong again." That got a scowl out of the soldier. "Blood. That is all I see."

"You are useless and empty. A broken. Little. Tool-!"

"So are you. You are Greece's broken soldier. A broken tool of war." The blonde wondered if this was mutually accepted between the both of them. "You are just as alone as I am. You are as broken as I am. And you are as empty as I am. Didn't you ever hear the saying 'One who wishes to wield the sword, will give up his ability to shield his heart'?" When the soldier didn't say anything, Octavian took his pensive face as silent affirmation. He continued, "Well... If I may say so-", he sniffled, "Since I've gone and said so much already-What you are really trying to kill is not me, but the scape-goat of all your problems, in a bleak hope," the boy squatted and faced the soldier, "that all the sadness you feel will go away. Yes?" The boy shrugged and threw his hands to the side in a large sweep, motioning to the background, "The Earth is your witness, and mine, and, I think, everyone else's... You, are just like me: Alone, sad, waiting for death... Without an ounce of a reason of as to why".

"You know nothing-!"

" _I_ , know, a lot _more_ than you," he pointed in his direction casually, "Give me credit for that at least..." As he stood up, half expecting the man to jump up in anger and chop him in half, his frail legs shook with exhaustion, and his concern for danger began stripping away slowly to bone. Suddenly the soldier spoke.

"- You know what? I am going to do your mother a favor, I am going to rid the world of your uselessness. How does that sound?"

For a few measly seconds Octavian thought the soldier had seen through his façade, but then realized that it was just another thing to say to justify killing someone. 'I will give your mother peace by killing her stupid disgraceful son... etc.' He always heard talk like that in the village and it always sickened him. "Well... If it were the last thing I were to say, I _think_ I would say, Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony. But of course, those words aren't my last words."

"What would they be?" He asked, suddenly confused, as if someone had interrupted his anger by asking him to go flower picking. His forehead glistened in the harsh white light and sharp eyes dulled.

"Well, I don't know. But I do know what my last words to _you_ will be. Sleep well, soldier." The soldier's body jerked suddenly, his face contorted with pain, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he moaned and he fell into the snow with a thump. The boy dropped the small back-up stone from his left hand. Octavian originally thought the snow would have cushioned the fall, but no such luck.

The skin of the man's neck was cold, but then again it could have been Octavian's fingers; he felt a pulse and nodded to himself. "You can still hear me, so listen up. There are wolves back at the edge of the forest." He felt the man's pulse jump, "Yeah, that's right. They are very big, this lot. But don't worry," Octavian grunted and helped, what now felt like a hundred pound noodle, to his feet, "you are not going to be their dinner."

The soldier's brows knitted together as he looked at Octavian through hooded sleep-heavy eyelids. Octavian patted the man's huge shoulder, "... The fact is _both_ of us could become their dinner if we don't hurry." That seemed to snap the numbed soldier back into the right mind-frame. With that the boy and the soldier treaded through the snow-laden forest, taking the route back to the cottage.

"You-", the soldier panted,"-you never kept your word..." Octavian smiled and shook his head. "Let us see how funny you think of me when I slit your throat." He growled, "There is a great place for people like you, those who break their promises, you _dog_!"

"Now, now. No more talking. You are going to wear yourself out." He slipped his shoulder underneath the soldier's arm to prop him up more, "I forgot to ask this-mainly because I did not care that much to ask in the first place." When the man groaned with contempt the boy rolled his eyes, " _Congratulations_ , your incredible abilities have peaked my relatively jaded interest, what is your name?" The soldier remained silent. "I will tell you mine if you tell me your own?"

"Boy, I care not what your name is, where you live, or how you got to this doomed country, but what I do know is that you will die by my hand. I swear it!" Octavian struggled to hold the man up.

The blonde sighed, his arms and legs ached, screaming for him to take a break, but he kept trudging on through the snow, terror fueling his heart, bravery or maybe stupidity pumping through his veins. _Something_ gave him strength to go on. And that _something_ was the sound of wolves scurrying to and fro to get a good look at their next meal. That was certainly motivation. "You can swear all you want, but that is not going to help you nor I to get out of this situation-"

"That _you_ made!" Complained the soldier.

He laughed skittishly, "True." He glanced at the man tensely when he started to mumble something with his eyes closed. "Hey, the one thing I have learned is that the woods eats crazy people-"

"Fool! I pray to my Father for help."

"...Are you... Are you going to ask him for a pony?" He huffed, "Because it doesn't give me any particular joy to carry you..."

"No! I am asking him for strength."

The boy nodded and kept looking forward, "Alright," he a soft smile appeared on his placid face, "Strength is good."

After a long way, the only sound coming from the crunch of snow underfoot, the soldier broke the otherwise silent white world Octavian was hypnotized by, "My name is Philip..." He mumbled.

"...Oh?" The boy chuckled, "My name is Octavian. And yes, I did keep my promise." Octavian noticed that the man didn't use any titles. He figured it was for the best that he did not know the man's position.

"You are Roman?" When the blonde shook his head 'no' the young man frowned, "Hmm, your mother must hate you then." Octavian flinched, "Anyway, you did not keep your promise." He sighed, "You are a filthy beggar who meddles with serious affairs."

"Well, I am not a beggar, but I agree with your second point..." Octavian wondered if that would be the end of him. Meddling was not something he set out to do, it just sort of ... happened. "And yes I did keep my promise. I showed you the boy."

"And where is this boy?" The soldier played along with the blonde, "Humor me. Show me again. Show me again what I came hunting for. Show me, this elusive... blonde... pale... boy..." Slowly his copper brown eyes looked at Octavian. Comprehension slammed into them like a hammer. "I am going to kill you." He growled.

"Yes, yes, we have been over this. Shall I remind you that the wolves may very well kill us _both_ if we do not work together?" He sighed, "Do not be childish- Stop it! Move! We are close to the cottage-! Alright, fine!" He dumped the man, who was stubbornly making himself stiff and rigid so as to make it difficult to carry him, unto the snow, "I will be right back. I am sure you won't mind entertaining my furry friends."

The boy dug into the man's pockets, enduring the weak slaps the soldier put up as defense, and finally pulled out what he was looking for. The golden white lion ring. "In a world ruled by wolves," he looked at the soldier and sneered, "Lions fall too soon to prey."

"What? WHAT?!" the young man struggled to get up and eventually just flailed his weak arms, "Get back here!" He screamed, "Boy!" The soldier's voice was degraded to a mere echo behind Octavian as he ran as fast as he could. ' _Just a few more meters... Just a few more..._ ' The boy thought as he skirted past bushes and skidded over tree branches.

Wolves encircled the man, his sword was a mile away, and the only thing he used to defend himself were rocks. However, his limp arms made sure his aim was terrible. As he threw his last one, the rock plummeting from the air and landing with a pathetic thud two feet away from his wily target, he panted, shaking. What was there left to do, but accept death.

He had been tricked by a meagre child.

_He_ who helped burn down that city, in the heart of Persia, _he_ who was second in command to the general... Phillip grinded his teeth. "A soldier does not cower in the face of death..." His weak words left from trembling lips and fell on deaf fluffy ears.

The wolves whined and scurried about; some of the younger ones eagerly snapped their teeth in Phillip's direction but remained in the outer circle, the Alpha alone closed in. The more he resisted, the more he felt tired, and the more his eyelids closed like heavy curtains.

"A soldier does not... blah, blah, blah." Octavian whistled and the wolves' ears popped up immediately. The only pair that didn't belonged to the Alpha. "Don't you ever shut up?" Phillip and the Alpha stared the scrawny blonde kid down with bright eyes. Of course Phillip looked more menacing. With the blood staining the Alpha's muzzle, Octavian made a good guess that it had actually traced Phillip and him here by the scent of his blood.

"Al Shaba!" He hollered out to the wolves and most of them scattered. The boy grinned like a madman. He had hoped that the wolves would associate that sound with being fed; so those that left first, the Alpha grudgingly doing so, were probably already at the cottage ripping the flesh off of the large deer-like-animal his mother worked so hard to kill. Fear sunk into his stomach. "How am I going to explain that away...?"

He sighed and jogged over to Phillip. "Don't look at me like that," he panted, "Do you think it was easy to drag a half frozen bloody carcass into the woods? And don't worry," he helped the man sit up, brushing the snow out of his dark brown hair, "The poison is not deadly, it will wear off in an hour. So... when it does wear off, why don't you just, go back home? Who would question the word of an honorable soldier?"

"What are you saying?" The brunet's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I am saying that... you should just go home. You deserve a break from all-this..." He motioned to the scene, blank snow was now littered with paw prints and the air was filled with distant howling. Blue eyes looked into copper ones, "Go home. Tell them that you fulfilled your mission. And relax in luxury." It was as if he were saying, 'don't worry about it, no one has to know... just go home and everything will fall into place', and Phillip was slowly buying into this. He glared at the boy and glanced down at the bag he had.

"You didn't have that before... where was it?"

"Here." The soldier stared at him. "I left it here earlier this morning-"

"You lead me here?" The anger in his voice was lost in a whisper. He watched as the boy tossed the blade he stabbed him with in front of him. "Is this an exchange?" he asked incredulously, "Give me back my ring!"

"No." The boy turned in the palm of his hand, "You have my knife as a spoil of war, and I have your ring. Get over it." The wind howled with the wolves as the skies darkened with dirty clouds and belching thunder. "And besides, we cannot leave _everything_ to chance, now can we, Phillip?" Stretching, his back made a satisfying crack and he yawned. Everything went, more or less, according to plan.

The soldier scowled, "My Father answers my prayers. Always."

"Yes. And considering that you asked for strength, I imagine he gave you the strength to endure." That made Phillip stop and think for a few moments. Octavian waited for him to say something and sighed, "It is a bad habit of mine- keeping promises..." With that the boy got up and patted the man's head, "It was nice to meet you." Glancing back at the knife, he saw how rusted with blood and frost it was now, "Oh, and if you still have not figured it out yet. Use the knife to verify that your deed is done." Blue eyes blared in the quickening darkness that fell over his pale face as the clouds tumbled forward over the sky, casting shadows unto the earth.

When Phillip remained mute, his shock-ridden expression prolonging the silence, the boy threw up his hands in frustration. "Take the knife and carry it home with you," he repeated, "Trading spoils of war," he interrupted the man before he spoke again, "-for _evidence_." He forced a smile, "Evidence of _your_ victory, yes?" Octavian forced patience.

"I'll warn you one last time. Meddle in the affairs of countries," Octavian faced the armored young man. He had stood up and sheathed his sword with a loud _clank_ , his face distorted with anger, "and you will find yourself in an ocean of blood— the souls of those whose blood you've added to that ocean, will be the ones to drag you deeper." His copper-brown eyes grew dark, "The ones to drown you." The blonde stood there, mounted to the spot, watching, as the young man made his way down the snowy hill, trudging through the snow, back in the direction of the town.

And when morning breaks, home probably.

Octavian yawned and flinched, his jaw was a mess. In fact his whole body was a mess: a gash slapped on his right cheek glistened with moist scarlet tinted flesh, a black eye made it look like he was wearing kohl, and not to mention the cut in his right hand. He could barely eat the rest of his bread and cheese because of the injuries.

The only bright side to this situation was the fact that the soldier, Phillip, had taken the dagger after all. There was a bloody indent where the snow had been disturbed and the sleeping earth had been exposed.

Looking up, he realized that the cold wasn't letting up. The snowing had stopped, but it only served as another soft blanket that would only melt away at the first sign of warmth; there wasn't anything more that he could do about his injuries now, as he sat down and finished tending to his wounds, he munched on hard bread and some cheese.

He felt his ribcage and sighed, he had been breathing as gingerly as he could, the hits the soldier-Phillip- gave him were very effective. "Yes mama, I was playing, and I fell... — No, somewhere around the woods... No I didn't go too far into the woods... Why do I have a pack? Um, I-".

The boy punched the ground in frustration and swallowed the tears that streamed down his face. He was tired of the lies. His mother didn't deserve lies, then again, he thought, he didn't deserve those lies either. Thinking of all the secrets made his stomach churn. Opening his eyes he dug into his pack now and pulled out a glove, slowly slipping in on his injured hand he then took out the three lion rings.

"At least I did not kill all four of them..." The justification fell pathetically flat from his lips into the air. Three pairs of black jeweled eyes stared blankly at him. The golden lions that sat etched into the rings roared, their mouths devoid of tongue.

It was evening now.

Time seemed to stop for him during his adventure, but it really didn't, it rushed ahead. Silence was his comfort again, the snow was white, the woods were quiet despite the coming storm, and the tree he sat under was large enough to shield him from snowfall. "Maybe I'll stay here for a bit longer..."

"Yes. Yes you will." A voice rang out like a bell in the emptiness.

Octavian groaned, "If you want to kill me, then do me a favor. Do it quickly." There was a chuckle and the boy jumped to his feet immediately, "Who are you?" He saw an old man, his greyed hair was frighteningly white, and cut short to underplay its curly nature, his side burns were pepper gray and his eyes... they were also white. When the boy asked him the question the man simply shrugged and smiled, almost as if he was impressed. "I am getting sick and tired of thinking that I am alone and out of nowhere guys pop out of the forest."

"Ah," the old man stepped closer, he was wearing armor too, but this one was strange. He was wearing white robes underneath, accented with designs of bright gold and silver, and the strange white metal armor was worn over it, the breastplate had a wolf and snake carved into it, the snake was wrapped around the wolf, but it didn't seem to mind, as it jumped to the chest to the armor. "That is understandable."

"What?" Octavian asked, distracted by the extravagance. The old man also had a strange weapon, it was a black staff. He peered at it suspiciously, but there was no blade. It was just some sort of black wooden stick.

Silvery eyes glanced at the staff, "Oh this? You do not have to worry, I won't use it on you." Octavian frowned making the man laugh, "You do not seem to be afraid. Are you used to seeing someone of my status appearing before you?"

"Well, no. This is the first time I have seen someone... of your status, appearing before me." The boy struggled to speak the same dialect of the language. He wondered why it got so complex and formal all of a sudden. "What is your business here?" He posed his question to the suspicious Elder.

The old man looked astonished, but he smiled, "I think that is supposed to be my line." As he came closer, bells, which were attached to the belt of the armor and robe, jingled with each step. Small ivy green bells were even around the man's right ankle.

Then the boy's eyes widened like saucers: the Elder was barefooted... and strolling around in the snow. "Now," Octavian backed away, startled by the interest in the Elder's eyes. Octavian looked like a beggar, a lowly dog, what was a man of high status doing here talking to _him_? "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Y-Your... question?" Blue eyes glanced up at the man's silver eyes and quickly looked back down. He didn't look threatening, so why the man's eyes were so hard and piercing were beyond the boy's understanding. When the boy didn't answer, he sighed. White floated down from the grey above. They both looked up at the greying skies and watched as the snow began to fall.

"Do you ever wonder if the skies reveal to us many surprises every day, and we just miss them?" Blonde hair bobbed up and down as the boy nodded. "You are perceptive." They glanced at each other. The man ruffled his blonde hair, "I like you." He grinned and sat down beside the boy with a grunt, laying his staff beside him. "Tell me," he turned his attention back to the skies, "do you ever wish you could change the way things are? Change the world?"

"Not the world everyone lives in... Just the one that my mother and I live in- sometimes I wish that there was a way to do it, Sir." The old man's laugh took the boy by surprise, it almost sounded like Lucius - the Roman soldier that he met while in the caravan. The heat was sorely missed. He smiled immediately, and for some reason, he felt safe. "Who are you? I answered your questions, can you answer mine?"

"Mmmm," he rubbed his chin and his scratchy white stubble, "Yes. I think I will." The man snapped his fingers and Octavian's world grew still. Literally. The snow was frozen in mid-flight, the forest's trees' sway was just an image, and the wind's dance stood in graceful form, the grass and leaves muted.

Octavian stared in awe, _getting_ up slowly he walked out of the cover of the grand tree, leaving the old man to watch him with interest, or rather, renewed curiosity. The boy stepped out into the marvel and cupped a snowflake in the palm of his hands, and pulling it down from the air slowly, he watched as it melted and dripped unto the ground.

"What is this?" He whispered. The place was like a painting, everything captured in a moment. He realized that this moment would not have meant much to him a few seconds ago. The form of the winds, the frozen tears of the skies, the rave of the leaves, even nature's echoing call, they were there and yet, not really.

The scent of fresh snow and wind was exhilarating. "What _is_ this?" The boy laughed and started jumping in the snow, spinning around to see everything. The old man got up, taking his staff and joined him. He spun the staff above his head and the air above started to move. Soon all was back to normal. The wind, as though to seek childish vengeance, swirled more violently. Whipping around in his face. The blonde combed his hair back. "How can you-"

"There is no time." The soft snow fall turned into the beginning of a raging storm. Octavian wondered if maybe he should have killed Phillip after all. The snow looked pretty hungry for blood before, maybe it wanted theirs as compensation for his romping... "Boy, I have chosen you."

Blue eyes looked up incredulously, "Chosen?"

"You have been abandoned by your father. I have taken pity on you. I will be your new one." Octavian's mouth fell open but the old man continued, his powerful voice making his bones vibrate with each booming word, it rose above the scream of the wind, "I will adopt you."

"U-um," Octavian stuttered. His small voice was a mere mumble in competition with howling winds and the Elder.

"You will be my son," Lightening flashed above, racing in front of the thunder that cracked and exploded across the air relentlessly. It was like they opposed the agreement that was coming. "I have seen your potential. Apollo does not. I come before you. Apollo does not-"

"And, you have shown me what you can do, Apollo has not." The boy finished the man's sentence, which seemed to shut him up. Though, nature just kept on rumbling. It was escalating, the blonde realized. "... I am really grateful. I really am... But I don't know who you are, I don't even know where you are from." His small voice was almost lost in the wind, taken right out of his mouth and swept away, he sighed and glanced down. His heart felt heavy and his lip quivered. "Right now I do not need a father... I need someone to guide me-". He muttered.

"I will guide you." Octavian tried to interrupt again out of frustration and growing anger but the man held his shoulders. "I will guide you." Blonde and white hair whipped around in the wild storm as silver and blue eyes stared at each other. "I have many names, but you may call me Saturn." Ruffling his hair again, he grinned, "And you will be my son."

"-Can you help me get home?" Octavian shouted. "I could... take you to my mother..." he suggested.

"Yes. It would be interesting to meet your mother. We have much to discuss... But that is for another time." The old man, who called himself Saturn, lead Octavian to the cottage, walking calmly through the storm as he forged a path of mute stillness leaving the landscape as a painting in front of them. Saturn talked to him most of the time, asking him strange questions, like if he ever wondered if a woodcutter could become one of the best known leaders ever known.

Something about a really tall black top-hat, a suit, and an assassination... Heaven knows why.

A familiar woot caught his attention. As he spun around he saw the golden feathers and large round eyes and smiled. The boy hooted back and watched the bird for a few moments. Its golden eyes watching him back. Pocketed silence and frozen images began to break away and expose him to the elements as Saturn left him behind, still talking to Octavian. With one last look he wished it a safe journey and ran to catch up with Saturn- if that was the magician's real name...

Golden moons blinked at the boy and the scene that unfolded before it, mute was its happy regards to the boy as the blonde hooted one last time and departed. Soon white gold trimmed wings, large and proud, opened up and cupped the winds with its feathers. Conquering them. With three heavy flaps, it was air-borne and sailing through the storm above the greying sky.

As it rose far above the churning clouds, it glided in the calm of the cool night. A silent place where the clouds could not reach, and where the night's embrace cradled the skies. The billowing clouds, fraught with lightening, below him were like a tumbling sea.

And the moon's silver light, the torch to lead it home.

And where was home? It was where this stark, black world, a wide expanse dusted with stars, was met with morning's sweet pink blush, and when the celestial silver moon vanished behind its feathery flank and gave reign to the rising fiery deity.

It was there, when the golden land peeked from the cloud sea, glittering with beautiful blue fountains and white imperial stone, that the two golden moons gazed down at the city of blades and pillars. It would return to him. To his brother and master.

The owl imagined his arrival: his master, with his right arm outstretched in a welcome, a fish or two in his left, and himself, descending with a loud flap and a message wrapped around his leg for his master to receive.

At present, his wings ached, and he longed for the dazed days of sweltering heavy heat when his master and him sat in the shade and gorged on grapes. Yes, he longed for those days, but like the lightening that ruefully ripped apart the heavens, he could not dream of those leisurely pleasures just yet.

With another crack, the flash of light splintered across the skies, and thunder soon boomed after it.

Yes, he, like nature herself, will not yield. The skies have yet to hear the hearty cries of battle. The earth Mother has yet to be drunk with the blood of the flesh-embodied losers of war. The gods have yet the curses of the mortal.

 So on heavy wings he tarried. He remembered what his master always said: No breaks. No tears. No surrender.

The war was just beginning after all.

 

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_(The picture was done by **ATrueArt** on deviantart.com!)_

**[Week's Question: "Why are wolves portrayed as villains and lions portrayed as kings...?" (Symbolically I mean... You know in myths and tales)]**

**Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to vote and comment! ;3**

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	15. TEMPERAL CANDLE'S WHISPER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a ghost from the Ages becomes real enough to lift promises off his lips...  
> And yet be so weak to promise a boy greatness,  
> When he only wants peace...

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** \-- WARNING\--: | THIS CHAPTER HAS SCENES THAT CONTAIN VIOLENT/EXPLICIT CONTENT |  
{Rating= 6.5/10}  
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**TEMPERAL CANDLE'S WHISPER**

 

 

A creak echoed throughout the hollowing darkness, as the boy closed the door to the cold and dying light, and strained his ears, listening for any sign of his mother. Suddenly, that inert cautiousness melted away along with the stubborn snow that clung to his clothes and boots.

In a matter of minutes the bond between his mother and him was crumbling— but actually, it wasn't a surprise. All the awkward hugs and kisses that the woman often gave him, especially after she had come back from a job, always felt as if she were overcompensating for something.

She didn't look at him in those chilly wet days. The ones when the dead leaves that you trample that normally would have just flaked off and shattered on impact, would now stick to your underfoot as if they wanted to slowly coat you with moss and death.

Those days she didn't look at him. And he didn't care anymore.

_Why should I?_

His mother was the one with the secrets. The one who had something to hide was _her,_ not him.

Swallowing loudly he attempted to soothe his tightening throat. It was a mistake as it elicited tears from his fair eyes that stung and blurred his vision to hazy grey.The numbness was setting in, masking his tired rage "... you... You were planning to...—" Saturn's last words to him before he left weren't exactly fitting for a parting fair-well... The old man's jovial demeanor disappeared as quickly as he did.

_"W-why do you n-not wish to speak to my m-mother now? She will b-b-be home soon..." Inquired Octavian as his teeth chattered loudly. The cold sat heavy in his bones and made them tremble._

_"... It has not come to pass..."_

_"W-what has not come to p-pass?" The absent crunch of snow hailed to mute foreboding as the Elder mumbled to himself before addressing the boy. The fact that the evening sky was quickly draining away to reveal night's domain was not all that comforting either. Stars may have been plentiful, but they were way too minute to invoke comfort. Besides, to what joy does one recieve from twinkling spectatres? They were holes. Or that's what he heard in the village somethines... Holes from which the gods could peer through... And watch tragedies unfold._

_"Boy, there will be a struggle." Octavian blinked away the frosty air and welcomed his tears as he looked up at Saturn. He was facing him now, his face solemn. "Between you and that woman..." Saturn stared at him._

_"...What do you mean...?"_

_The Elder sighed and messaged the space between his eyes, "The choices both you and her make have not yet come to pass... and therefore the respective futures pertaining to those choices have not yet come to pass..." Eerie blankness stared right through the boy. "Choices of the now or later...?" He seemed to ask himself. The Elder talked on, already shimmering, dissipating from view, his words, however, remained strong until the end, keeping a noticble irritated tone, "I just hope, for your sake, that **Woman** chooses the later..."_

_"W-what 'l-later' ch-choice? Can you not tell me-P-please! Elder? S-Saturn!?" His small voice was lost in the snow storm, Saturn's words' echo washed away in the slush of snow and ice. "W-what is... what is mama gonna do...?" A small boy hugged himself as he watched the rest of the evening sky bleed away to reveal pitch black._

_Knee deep in snow, he shivered._

"How was your trip?" Octavian yelped as he slipped on the wet floor and fell on his butt, his thoughts sliced wide open by the hostile tone. Small boots clattered to his side, leaving small puddles of melted snow. His mother's voice scared the living daylights out of him. Back home, soaking wet and shivering like a dog wasn't exactly the ideal image of 'normal'. How was he going to explain this?

As he got up he mumbled something and his mother repeated her question. Firmly. "How was your trip?" The boy looked to his gloved hand and shrugged. The questioning warranted him cold and silent.

_Why do I need to tell you anything?_

The longer it took for him to come up with an answer, the hotter the phantom pains grew, the ones he felt in memory of the beatings he got as punishment. He swallowed hard and looked up. A big mistake. Her eyes were like molten coal, there was no mercy there, no kind wrinkle in her eyes, and definitely no warmth in that honeyed voice of hers. The only warmth he'd be getting, if he didn't act fast, would be the warmth of his tears gilding down his face as he got beaten.

Looking around to avoid his mother's glare, he saw that the place was already prepared for night. The floors were swept and the tables wiped; all was still albeit the crinkle of paper. Octavian frowned. There was a map on the dining table. He was supposed to be here early, ready to discuss where they would move to next, as they'd since given up any and all hope of remaining in one town. Why? His mother wouldn't tell him. Another lie, he suspected.

"It was... interesting." The blonde got up off the ground and forced himself not to flinch at the sound of his mother's bare feet treading across the wooden floor as she approached him, skirted past and blocked his only exit. The usual soft padding sounded more like hard hisses as her feet occasionally slid across the floor. She was standing in front of him now, towering over him, her arms crossed. Panic flooded him; yet, he was so calm. It scared him.

_What do you want me to say?_

Octavian kept his head down and didn't look at her. He didn't need to say anything.

_What do you want me to say?_

He wouldn't say anything. All his mind could think about was all the lies.

_What are you looking at me for? With those cold eyes... All your lies... And for what? What do you want me to say? What? What? **What?**_

Every single one of them. Those lies, they tickled his ear as they hissed and whispered over and over again. Each breath he took was labored as his chest tightened. Why did she lie to him? His fingers dug into his palm as his injured hand clenched into a fist, his other hand crawled up his constricting chest as his mother asked him her question, again.

It fell on deaf ears. Erratic heartbeat, shaking fists, and a cold sweat, the blonde stood otherwise stoic; his blue eyes absent of light as he regarded his mother with a dark laugh, "What? What about my trip do _you_ want to hear? I'm sure you were, how should I put it? Busy-" The harsh sound ricocheted into the damp air. His cheek was burning. The raw sharp slap only left him smiling wider.

"Octa-"

A sarcastic devilish cackle left his pale lips as he shot a glower at the woman. "Why don't you just spare me the scolding and hit me." When there was no response he shouted, " _Hit_ me!" He stepped forward and looked at her. Her beautiful hair, strands falling into her strong face, her brown eyes... her watery brown eyes. Those _lying_ brown eyes.

The blonde screamed with all his might, "Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!" The rage even took him by surprise. All he knew was that he had something in his hand. Something with a comforting and reassuring grip. He screamed till he couldn't breathe, "Hit me, you _liar_!" All those times when she promised that she would never leave him alone, she would always love him, that she would protect him till her dying breath... All of the contempt he had for those lies fueled his anger even more, he swung and swung until...

_Fa-Thud._

Blue eyes peered from underneath stringy blonde hair as he looked down to see his mother on the ground, her arm that she held up to protect her face wat cut, and her eyes were full of what the blonde could only recognize as hatred. She got up slowly and side stepped away from the boy.

Octavian shivered, her glare, he could feel it, boring into his back. Another laugh escaped his trembling lips as he watch his mother, the woman a few feet away from him, circling him, their eyes interlocked in some test of wills. Her blazing brown glare against his iron cold glower. Blood dripped from the dagger Octavian had in his grasp. "Liar... liar... ", he hiccupped as he started to laugh, "Lies. All of it. W-what you... you told me..."

He swayed as he walked towards the woman, almost as if he were drunk with anger and madness. All the while, memories— no, fragments of those memories— floated around in his sight. Blinding him with piercing, white pain. The blood of those men he murdered screamed up at him from the earth to the point where he almost felt the hot breath of their screams on his ears. He covered them.

They were here now.

Pulling him down into that sea of blood. Tears streamed down his face, but he laughed again, disregarding the heavy pain in his chest, "Why not add a liar to that sea... _And_ a murderer?"

"Octavian, breathe. You will pass out! Octavian!" The woman reached out for the unresponsive boy but was slapped away. The blond coughed violently after trying another laugh which broke down into a sob, then a warped snorting laugh.

Even though he threatened to kill both of them. He knew he only harbored enough hatred towards one person.

Himself.

_He_ had believed her. _He_ was the fool. _He_ was the one who murdered those men for her.

And he deserved it. The betrayal.

"What are you talking about? Octavian?" The woman watched as her son made his way to the door. "Octavian!" When the boy looked back, she jolted. Those eyes stopped her in her tracks, "They are so ... cold..."

_I believed your lies. I loved you... I loved you but... I am a burden. A curse... Don't worry I'll make it go away... the pain... all the trouble I have caused you... I'll make it all go away._

"...Like my heart it seems..." He answered with a frail joke. The boy almost laughed at himself. All this time, he was only trying, trying and trying so hard not to become a burden. Not to be someone that would bring disgrace, pain, or sorrow, to anyone. Yet, the one he truly loved, the one he decided to sacrifice his sanity for was lying to him from the start. In the end, _he_ was really the joke.

Octavian swung open the door and hopped into the white snow, barefoot and droplets of blood sprinkled in a trail behind him.

"Octavian! Stop, where are you going-" her words were cut short by the same eerie laughter. Her son's laughter.

"Where am I going?" His gaze found hers, "... I don't know... I have heard the locals talking about a place where the gods send useless souls... Maybe there." The boy held his arms out, addressing the forest this time, "You can have it! All of it! You don't have to wait anymore... I'll give it to you! My blood, it is what you wanted right? Right?!" He cried out with that crooked smile on his tear stained face. The blade was held above his chest.

_All this time. She lied to me..._ He thought of all the times she left the house, with the war eminent, spreading form land to land, country to country.... And them. Running fugitives with ransoms on their heads that any petty beggar or child could collect. Both of them were wanted. Both! Not just him.

"Octavian!" His mother ran towards him, but stopped when he threatened to stab himself with the knife right then and there. "Octavian, please... I do not understand-"

"Stop lying to me!" The degree of his anger was lost in the tears and ice of his eyes. His mother gritted her teeth when tears of her own started to fall, "Oh, stop your crying!" He spat. It was terrofying. Even now, as he was losing his grip, he recognised how much impact his words had for both his mother and himself. But it was too late for that regret. That aching realisation. He wasn't going to buy into those tears and invest— what felt like— another lifetime trying to unweave the issues he had been trying to keep below the surface of normality.

No, both their tears held selfish weight and Octavian knew it.

What poured from her stubborn brown eyes-those beautiful brown eyes that he often found safety in-was akin to poison in his eyes. "You were planning to do this the whole time anyway, weren't you?!" He screamed. Clouds of mist of breath formed rapidly as he hyperventilated, clutching his chest. Heart pounding like a rabbit's, a sickening memory bubbled up and broke the thin film of sanity he had fought to maintain: His mother often enjoyed killing rabbits.

They were the easiest prey.

Coughing and doubled over, the blonde swallowed back the vomit. "You lied to me... Y-you said we could be a family w-when we found somewhere safe to stay... We've been travelling for a year!" Octavian raised his blood-shot eyes from the white snow to his mother's molten brown eyes. "We have stopped in numerous enemy territories now... You never wanted to be a family... y-you were going to _kill_ me... A-and collect the ransom anonymously..." He let out a sob but gripped the knife and shook his head, "B-but you won't be the one to kill me," he managed a smile as he displayed the dull and blood-rusted dagger, shaking it slowly for his mother's eyes to behold and understand. "I will."

The pure snow... He could finally quench the ravenous thirst for blood the snow had. "Gold coins for my capture, huh? With a deadening smile, the boy remembered the story he told in the caravan about him and Al Sada, it seems _he_ was the fool who called death's servant his friend after all. He just didn't know death's servant was his _mother_. Then again, if she had told him, would he have believed her?

_Maybe I can be of use... to someone... I love, after all...?_

"So that was what all this was for?" The woman cautiously approached him, her hands clasped tightly, "You are afraid that I am using you?" Blue eyes narrowed at the sound of the desperation that shook his mother's-no-this _woman's_ voice. "I am _so_ sorry for lying to you, my love. I'm so sorry, but please, please!" she begged him, "Don't... Don't do this." She mouthed the words since her voice failed her. More tears rolled down her dark cheeks as she shook her head, holding his sad gaze. Kneeling in the cold snow, her thin clothing clinging to her withdrawing figure, her eyes pleading for him to stop, she looked so... so vulnerable. So sad. As her arms reached for him Octavian spotted a new bruise, just below her collar bone. The travelling must have taken a toll on her.

Octavian shook his head.

"Y-you were g-going to kill me... You were going to k-kill me... and collect the gold..." He stuttered as his teeth chattered. His voice failed him too as he lost the will to face her. He looked away and ignored her shrieking plea.

He plunged the knife into his chest. The shock of the pain grew tolerable once he remembered the faces of those he slaughtered. Their grisly faces grinned at him from the blood-black shadows of the forest, their voices added to the ocean of those in the scarlet sea.

He was beginning to drown. His vision faded at the edges, and he choked on warm sweet liquid. Red soaked his clothes and streamed into the snow. That was not enough. The snow was still white. It still pined for more.

Blood.

It wanted more.

_I WaNt MoRE BlOoD... YoU wIlL GiVe iT tO Me..._

... YoU **BeLoNg** To **ME**!

Octavian cried out as he forced the knife deeper, scraping and splintering bone; he slipped as his bare feet tried to get holding on something sturdy to stand on and fell into the snow. Chest down. He tried to scream but the pain blasted the wind out of his ruptured lungs, blood and grit instead came bubbling out in his mute cry.

Octavian felt as if the dead took hold of his ankles to drown him, dragging him deeper and deeper, until he saw no more sunlight. Their bony fingers dug into his pale skin. He knew the time had come to feed off his flesh... The hallucination didn't spare him any details. A gurgling sound came from his throat as he thrashed around trying to scream.

"Octavian!" A cry. Echoed in the darkness, so grieved and desperate. "Octavian, my baby..." she gasped, "My baby!" They were sobbing, whoever that was. Octavian registered only that voice slowly dispersed to quiet. "Octavian, no, no, no! NO!"

"I-I..." A pang of regret jolted the boy as he sunk. "I-I... I'm ..."

_Sorry_.

His mother cradled her child in her arms and shook violently as she sobbed, the salt tears pouring down her face. "My baby." She managed a hoarse whisper. A hiss of grief. Getting up, she carried him back inside, the sudden loneliness gripping her heart.

The hardest part was ripping out the knife, she steeled herself for it, but when it was out she burst into tears. She could only manage to stop crying when she cleaned his wounds and bound them so he wouldn't bleed so much anymore. She ran her hand through his soft blonde hair, "My baby," she repeated in the painful silence.

Biting her trembling lip she moved his small body to the bed; when she saw how the bed was spread a few more tears rolled down her cheek as she tucked him in, sleeping beside him to give him warmth. "My little baby... Oh how... I love you... mama loves you..." She could only blame herself for this. The only person she cared about was about to leave her, no matter how much she clung unto his little body, he was going to die and leave her.

Slowly, her hand moved his still head to her chest, as she always did when he cried. She imagined how many times he cried alone when she went off to do... "My job..." She scowled and contemplated killing herself. "My job... my one and only blessed job was looking after you... And I couldn't even do that... My poor baby...! My... my little Octavian..." She held him close and did the only thing she could do.

She prayed.

Though, Sambethe was never a woman of virtue, and specifically _prayers..._ Asking the gods for help when she found that with or without them, they did just fine was always questionable. Illogical. But she found, the more she begged, the harder she pleaded, the more she felt this aching silence. As if someone was listening.

Was it her own ears that her words fell flat on? Where were the gods when you needed them?

Where were the gods, period?

"Please... spare my son. Make him live... I-I have little to offer," She forced herself not to shiver from the cold that penetrated the cottage. Only the boy's small frame was covered by the blanket. The woman swallowed her pride and bowed her head, "but I am willing to offer my life... in exchange... Please..." she whispered, weak with grief, all her energy and strength went into wishing, pleading, praying: "For a new day where I can see him laughing and smiling again. Bring Mercy,let her see my penetance, please, gods, do something... anything... Please, spare my son...!"

The smell of rain, mint and vanilla wafted into the room, pouring into it, a calm. The woman held her child, hoping that she was strong enough to hold onto his spirit too. Sleep came to her. But not by her own will. Little did she know that that scent came from outside, where a man, an old man with white hair, stood at the site of spilled blood and madness; he smiled and looked upon the house with growing interest.

Wind grew still, forests muted their sway and animals their call. The scent of rain, mint and vanilla came from a lit candle that was in the hand of the Elder. His green bells jingled as he stepped forward, he placed the candle on the windowsill and vanished with his pealing voice, "...the _later_...? May the events come..."

"... and pass..."

The flame was small, yellow and it was as still as the child in the mother's arms. One breath after another, he began to breathe. The flame reacted, and grew in warmth and light until it seemed to dance. Then, swiftly it fizzled out with a _tsss_. The winds and the animals returned to their chaotic nature in the dying afternoon, but the trees, the spectators, remained silent. A prayer was answered, but... at what time will it be fulfilled? What will be its price?

The boy child breathes, but with borrowed air.

Blue eyes flash open and after a few minutes, the ceiling came into focus. The boy laid still for a few moments, unsure of what to do.

_What happened?_

When he tried to remember, the front of his head pounded as the pain exploded in a ringing hot pain. "Ack!" His movements were rewarded with more sharp, stinging, pain. This time in his bandaged chest. He cried silently as he slowly remembered.

It felt like a stone was in his throat, all he could do from being overcome was to close his eyes and trace the good memories and preoccupy himself with piecing back together their fragments. His frail body trembled slightly as he sniffled.

The silence was not enough. It could not comfort him.

He didn't want it to.

A pathetic whimper leapt from his aching throat and soon his vision became blurred. Warm streams ran down his gaunt cheeks and as he hugged himself he started to cry.

Eyes squeezed shut, as if he were experiencing the event again, he gasped and shuddered and then began to cry louder. Brown eyes stared back at him from the shadows of his fetal memory, they laughed, then they frowned, then they showed him love-his heart pounded away like a rabbit's as the little boy saw those brown eyes warp into anger and then sheer grief.

"No..." he sobbed quietly, "N-no..." he choked on his tears and sniffled, the eyes were now hollow, his mother's face was now gaunt and deathly pale, her eyes were glowing with red fire underneath the paper thin lids, veins bulging from her neck, slowly snaking their way up to her face.

The vision didn't stop.

Her black hair started to shed, falling out in spindly strands first, and then whole locks, leaving her scalp looking red and patchy. As if someone was ripping the follicles from the roots. The raven black hair seemed to writhe in pain on the floor, they hissed and then quickly shrunk as they decayed, leaving a putrid scent of sickness in the air.

When the boy shifted his eye from the horrible scene he saw his mother, her rib cage was being forced down by something. _Crack!_ The sickening sound echoed through the damp earthy air. A black hand with ashen white veins reached out from the ceiling, the claws dug out her chest. Flesh being torn away from bone sounded like ripping at cloth; the flaps of skin slapped the motionless body of his mother as large pieces were removed.

Octavian covered his ears and shut his eyes, but he could still see. He could still hear the constant, _rip_ , _rip_ , _rip_ , of flesh. Was it trying to get to her heart? The boy saw bone exposed and beyond repair, opened up like a game's carcass, like a deer after they had finished skinning it. Octavian wasn't sure if that horrified shriek, that terrible blaring, was from him, or the face, as calm as night, that peeked down at him.

It twisted its neck from the ceiling and from the pulsing mass of ebony, a hand came into view. His voice failed him. He could not scream anymore. His blue eyes wide with horror, he could only stand shaking, mouth agape in a futile attempt to breathe as that hand slowly came towards him.

That was when the whispers came. They came in a storm. Like those sand storms he had witnessed when he was younger, except this time, instead of red sand, spirits with fiery eyes raged around him, screaming, crying, moaning and tearing at him. "Mama!" The boy fell to his knees and held his head, "Mama!" He cried as the vision dissipated into nothingness.

"Shhh, shhh," warmth cradled the boy, he shook and took broken breathes as he tried to stop sobbing. His mother calmed him down, kissing his face and turning it to look her way, "Shh, everything is alright. It was only a dream, my love." As exhausted blue eyes found warm brown ones, they blinked away the tears.

A sniffle or two later, the boy wrapped his little arms around her neck, mimicking the small soothing motion of his mother rubbing his back. "It's okay... Everything is going to be okay." In no time she had coaxed him to sleep some more, allowing him to rest his head on her chest to hear her heart beat.

One single small voice penetrated the groggy hush, "Mama?"

"Y-yes, my son?" Her soft hands caressed her son's face but her voice was uneasy.

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." When tears threatened to overwhelm the boy again, his mother intervened.

"Before you say anything more, let me just tell you this. I love you more than you will ever know, and... I might have been stupid enough to contemplate killing you before... when I was much, much, younger, but never... _Never,_ has it crossed my mind to kill you since... You are my baby, and I will always love you."

He tried to speak but she shushed him, "I know that you worry for my wellbeing, but you are a _child,_ Octavian. I am the adult. Meaning, _I_ am the one that is to take care of you... Not the other way around." She took a deep breath and sighed shakily, "I also know that, despite what I am doing, I am not in control."

She looked into her son's pale face, "No one is. That is just the way things are. The natural state of the world, if you like." As she said this the boy started whimpering, "Shh, shhh, I know, I know..." After a few minutes she continued, "Octavian? Do you know what else I know?"

He shook his head no, "What?"

"I know that each time I left for... w-work... you took it upon yourself to kill some of the soldiers that were hunting us... The job of ensuring our safety is mine, Not yours." She tickled him but only got a small giggle; his smile wilted, just like that rosy complexion in his cheeks.

She wondered where it could have possibly gone. And when.

"Octavian. You are a boy. I realize that I have not been clear to you what your roles might be... After all, y-you... you do not have a male figure from which you can emulate-uh, I mean, appreciate and understand what is expected of you... That is, again, my own fault..." clearing her throat she brushed her black hair out of her face, "So I will make it clear. Little boys do not kill people. No matter how threatening or dangerous they may be-"

"So what should little boys-I mean, _I_ do?!"

"Listen to me, sweetheart." It almost made her smile when she saw the anger flare in his empty blue eyes. At least there was something to work with, he wasn't completely unresponsive. "You are a boy. Not a man," her voice had a familiar firmness to it that she recognized as her Mother's. Somewhere along the line she had adopted this sternness, despite her unwillingness to conform in previous years.

'Great', she thought, 'I have become my mother...'.

"Men may kill as they choose, as they are fully aware of the consequences that follow afterwards-or at least that is what they should know... Boys will make mistakes."

"Like what?"

She smiled, realizing that he was being cheeky, she poked him in the stomach, "Like being arrogant enough to think that they can be sneaky and hide bloody clothes in a badly hidden bag." When he blushed she raised her brow, "And leaving the poisonous petals of the Quietus insaniam flower in the kitchen, and falling asleep on your 'secret maps' so when your mother comes to put you to bed she finds them underneath you, _and_ -"

"Okay! Okay... I-I get it..." Octavian hid his face in her chest when she started laughing.

"Well... I cannot say I am not impressed regardless of the mistakes." Blue eyes peeked up at her, "You do have potential my dear..." her face grew serious again, she wanted to set some things straight. So he would understand.

So he would recognize the danger.

"Octavian, you know I love you, with all my heart, but I do not want to see my son fighting battles that he has yet to fathom the driving force behind it all... If you understand this then you can at the very least choose your battles wisely. You must understand this from now, there will always be the pain of war and the bloodshed that follows soon after..."

"...But... if I pick the winning side... There is no pain for the winners... right?"

Her sad smile told him different. "My son, the spilled blood that war demands comes from both sides. You must never ever pick a _side_... you will only be trapped there when the people turn to bitterness and hate in order to hold themselves high. And in the end...?"

Octavian could almost see the fire blazing in her sad eyes, "It is _they_ that do those horrible things-those terrible, horrible things- that they once protested to be unjust and heinous in order to get ahead. In order to _win."_

"... teach me, mama... teach me the ways of war so I may understand and defeat the enemy." His determination was refreshing, much better than the deadened state he was in before, at least.

"Do you know who the enemy is, my sweet?" Octavian shook his head hesitantly.

"They are you, and me. They are the small toddlers that cling to their mother's chests, they are the young men who has yet to become fathers, yet to hold their first child in their arms and love it... They are simply people who have been labelled as the object of hatred in the eyes of others. My love, in truth, they are no different from us, but as life would have it, war knows no mercy and differentiates _no one_... It devours all. It is the natural order of things."

"S-so... how... How can I fight...?"

"Octavian I want you to remember this. If you forget everything else that I teach you. Remember this." When he nodded she continued. "Fight, not for a side, not for the promises to be fulfilled in the future, not even for the sake of winning..." When she saw Octavian's brows curve in confusion she kissed his nose, "You fight for those you love. Because, if you lose, as long as you buy them time, you have already won. Understand?"

"...No... No I don't." She laughed.

"Well, you will soon enough." She almost cringed, the hard part was already here. "Octavian, did I ever tell you my name?"

"Yes."

"I-I did?" Her eyes widened with surprise.

"Yes, your name is mama."

"... Oh, Ha, Ha, Octavian." The woman rolled her eyes. "My name-my name is Sambethe. Sambethe, descendant of Nimrod, great leader and hunter of Babylon. Sometimes called daughter of Nimrod... Wife to the late Prince Asad, Lion of the North, keeper of white fire... and traitor to the Western council and Achaemenid Empire..."

Octavian gawked at her. "So when I say that I can take care of things, believe me, okay?" The little boy nodded. "I have been fending for myself since I was born. My eleven sisters and I were taken and married to stabilize the peace between the Achaemenid Empire and the rest of the countries of Persia by my influential father. It didn't work... So I ended up running for my life." Her lips pressed against his brow, "And then... I had you. I felt so happy."

"I-I am not a burden?"

"No. You are annoying, you are frustrating, you are exhilarating, and you are the joy of my life. Maybe when you have a child of your own, you will understand how I feel. However, until then, you will just have to take my word for it." Octavian grumbled underneath his breath but hid the smile when he borrowed into his mother's chest again.

She laughed, "A few more years and you know you will have to stop doing that, you know?" The red in his cheek indicated that he knew what she was talking about despite avoiding her gaze, but he didn't budge. "I remember when you were so young and cute..." he peeked at her as she reminisced, "You used to love being breast-fed, sometimes you would hang on and-"

"No! Stop, no more! I'll stop, I'll stop!" The little boy covered his ears and shut his eyes tight, swiftly removing his head from his mother's chest. His mother only laughed at his embarrassment, "I-I know I am getting too big... that's why I want to do it while I am still able to... I won't be able to hug you or kiss you like I can now, so... so..."

His face was as red as an _Aanar_. She missed aanar, the sweet seeds were so fresh, and the juice certainly quenched any dry-sandy mouth. When she looked at her little boy she could only smile, her boy was even sweeter than _aanar_. ' _I wish he could stay this way forever..._ ' She thought.

"My love," her smooth hand guided his gaze from his twiddling fingers to her face, "You may be frowned upon for being overly affectionate, but I will not. No one can frown upon a mother's love. Those that do are fools, nothing more."

Octavian sighed, "That's what you say about _anyone_ who does not agree with you."

"I know. And I am usually right, my little _aanar_." Happy minutes of silence governed the warming room. The woman busied herself by twirling her slender fingers in Octavian's course hair. It was stiff with sweat in some places, almost like a reminder of the bleakness that took hold of him only a few moments ago, the sight of this made her wince.

"Mama? When will you start teaching me?" Again, his small voice snapped her out of her contemplation. ' _No time to dwell on dark thoughts... Not this time..._ ', she thought.

"... When we are much closer to our end destination." She answered.

"W-where...? Where would that be?" He questioned immediately.

She pinched his nose, "I will tell you when we get there. Maybe."

"Ugh! Mama! Stop!" Complaints soon turned into laughter as Octavian tried to avoid being tickled, "You know, I will become too old for this too!"

"I know." Her brown eyes reminded the boy of a mother wolf's, they narrowed slightly, but not for murderous reasons, just curiosity. Once she was close enough, she grabbed his cheeks and kissed his face, pulling him in to a crushing hug, "Mmmm! I know." She sighed, apparently at peace as a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and as Octavian struggled desperately to breathe.

"Mama, mama! C-can't... b-breathe!" He gasped.

"My dearest son," she cooed, breaking the embrace, she jerked the boy back and held his shoulders, "I shall teach you the basics!" excitement was building in her otherwise calm tone of voice, which made Octavian agonize about what he got himself into, "The rest is up to you to learn and develop."

Octavian nodded, filling his starved lungs with the oxygen they so ached for; after a few moments, he took the blanket and gently draped it over his mother's shoulders, she was about to interject but he just grinned, "As someone who will grow up, I hope you understand that it is within my stubbornness that I will try to protect you... You can call it, the natural order of things?"

Her own words were being used against her, Sam didn't know whether to be upset or impressed. "And speaking of the natural order of things... As Destiny has it, we may end up in Rome with the amount of running we are doing."

"Rome? My dear, the romans do not take kindly to foreign peasants wandering their city." She chuckled.

"I know. But we will be something other than peasants."

"Oh? And what will we be?" Sam rustled his blonde locks, obviously not taking him seriously.

"Guests," was Octavian's simple answer. Sam narrowed her eyes at her child, but he remained quiet on the subject. "It is late, I should get ready for bed." He slyly replied.

"Octavian. What is this guest business you speak of?" The brunette frowned, "I demand to know."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such impatience." He feigned disappointment and wiggled out of the heavy blanket. "...I will tell you when we get there." He jumped out of bed to change and smiled ruefully, "Maybe," leaving his mother baffled by the sudden change in confidence.

"Come back here young man. I have your bandages to change."

"I can do it! Mother, stop!" Octavian ran as best as he could to hide. A fruitless effort as he knew his mother was not going to give up. And with such a small house, she was bound to catch him eventually. He was like an injured rabbit being chased by a wolf. There was no escape. He shrieked, but ended up laughing anyway, when she found him. He could only evade her for so long while he was injured.

In a small stone cottage in the snow laden forests. There was an outed candle that stood on a window sill, wisps of smoke still lingering stubbornly, awaiting the pink morning skies. Once alive with a fire that danced with yellow mirth, its blackened wick laid still but with dying embers.

That fire now laid solely in the heart of a boy with eyes of shattered ice, its end destined to be a grand one. One that will blaze uncontrollably, fiercely, passionately, and inevitably burn itself out.

In the end the ice will melt and reveal the emptiness that the flames have consumed. The contents long ago given away. Like that of the delicate pink of the morning skies, this flame is on borrowed time. But unlike the skies and earth, its time is not governed by the sun and the moon, but by silver threads overseen by Temporal Sentience. The father of gods.

Still, threads they may be, temporal or not. Strain by the weighty pains to come shall bring about means for those silver threads to snap under pressure. And where shall those fated pains hail from? No one but the boy of a candle heart and frosty gaze can tell, can govern...

... can _change_.

 

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**[Question of the Week: "When you guys were younger, have you ever lit a match, or a candle, just to see it burn?"]**

_"Those candle flames were like the lives of men. So fragile. So deadly. Left alone, they lit and warmed. Let run rampant, they would destroy the very things they were meant to illuminate. Embryonic bonfires, each bearing a seed of destruction so potent it could tumble cities and dash kings to their knees."_

**Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to vote and comment! ;3**

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	16. CUT THROAT UNION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little dicey... ;)

**CHAPTER 09: CUT THROATED UNION**

 

When the boy asked for "Lucius, the man with the silver hair" he didn't expect being captured. He should have. But he didn't. All that ran through his mind as he sat on the red tiled roof in the pitch black night, as he waited out the guards, was revenge.

Lucius was going to pay. Just like those other soldiers, and this time, he would slay that man with his own dagger and watch his blood pour through his mouth as he gargled an apology. 'If he gives me an apology... the old goat...' the boy thought.

"Why can't Melpomene take a break...? Just for a little while..." he grumbled under his breath as he resisted the cold wind nipping at his unprotected shoulders, brushing the tingles off with growing irritation. The Greeks had a goddess-- a Muse called Melpomene. Her story and purpose confused Octavian, but nowadays it was starting to make more and more sense.

She was the goddess responsible for music, song and dance, but oddly, she was associated with the theatrical theme of Tragedy. Often having a mask of a grief-stricken man, or a crying man, that she wore over her beautiful face or held in her hands... As if she bore a present to give to you.

This was the nature of Tragedy, Octavian guessed. It was beautiful in its form to spectators, but heart-wrenching to those who are steeped in it... To those who drown in it, Tragedy, she dances and sings mockery to them, flirting with heroes, peasants, men, women, children, until they grow intoxicated with either her hidden beauty, or grow mad at their own grief.

"Another reason to keep away from those Greeks... Their gods and goddesses are too real for comfort..." The boy shook his head slowly and rubbed his tired eyes as he sighed heavily, "A nation who is better known for their Tragedies should be left alone. " The subject was frightening him, so Octavian tried to forget about it.

He glanced up again, checking if the grey clouds that blocked out the evening sun was still pregnant with rain, happier that he was in Rome at least. He licked his cold lips, "Rain will be freezing cold, no doubt."

He shuddered violently and yanked the cloak over his shoulders and neck, grateful for the warmth of the thick brown cloth. As he sighed, mist dispersed and perished before his eyes as he slipped into a daze.

The summer they had taken to travel to this city had ended faster than he had expected. He was losing time... Days stunted and nights stretched on forever, until the threshold between both seemed pulled thin like a translucent veil, stitched across by silver strings... "It's not real." It's what he muttered to himself.

He tried to forget.

It was in those frozen moments that he forced himself to forget the times when he'd look up at the sky, when his mother was fast asleep, and watch in bone-chilling horror as the heaven's delicate veil, ripped. And bled.

He breathed in the crisp air and closed his eyes. Indeed. Summer's reign had died and it was soon time for Winter's disjointed coronation. Heralded by rain and nippy winds.

As bleak as it was getting, the hidden presence of the sun beneath the clouds gave him comfort. Though he hated that it did.

Octavian coughed in his hand and crawled over to a chimney; the bricks were remotely warm there so he sat and thawed the ice from his veins and ignored the thick stench of black smoke that snaked up into the sky in wisps.

The clang of the Iron Gate just below stirred him from the sobering heat and he looked down; his pale eyes regarded the unfolding scene below with slight curiosity. One guard—no, two— dragged some _poor_   soul across the stone, he was screaming, digging his nails in and left blood trailing.

Seeing that this was a good time to practice, Octavian translated, straining his ears against the sudden _pitter patter_ of drizzle, "No! Please! _Please_! I have a family, a wife, kids... please!" The man was pleading, apparently.

Octavian tasted the bitter gal that sat at the back of his throat. His sobbing made the boy cringe, but he had a family too. So mustering up the reserve, the boy ignored the man's pleas, he slipped down from the roof and skated past the gate before slinking up right behind the guards and sneaking in the huge door behind them.

The black wood door was large and thick like a Cedar tree, situated in an arch, and locked with a heavy iron bar. When Octavian snuck in he pulled a hood over his head. A guard looked back.

"Ay, you!" Octavian looked up, his face shrouded in shadows. "Lock the doors. We don' want any one escapin' do we? Oh, do me a favor, kid, go up n' tell Tinian that we 'ave the man he accused of raping 'is daughter—"

"No! It's not true—I didn't... She said-she, she wanted—!" The man stuttered and then his words were brought to a halt as one of the guards slammed his elbow into the back of his head. With a crack the man's voice retreated behind a gasp and his head snapped to the side.

He rubbed the sore spot gingerly. His dark eyes, sunken in the shadows of his sockets swiveled around and found the boy's, as if he was searching for sympathy. Help, maybe. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there in Octavian's eyes. The sudden frost in his stare made sure of that.

"Shatt-up! You will be judged be'ore the gods and council. 'N both 'ave no mercy." The unforgiving cackle from the guard gave Octavian chills. He needed to get his mother out of this place and fast.

The one that remained silent through the whole ordeal managed to wipe the disgust off his face long enough to give Octavian one more order. "And, also—" the bar fell suddenly and bounced twice as it locked into place, Octavian nearly panicked when the guard spoke to him—he chastised himself for being so careless, he could have lost a finger!

"Y-Yes sir?" The boy coughed in his hand.

"... Ensure that Tinian understands the price for this man's capture is high... but not high enough for me to kill him if my pay is not to my liking. Understand?" His gruff partner snorted in a laugh.

"Always about the denarius aren'tchya?" In comparison the soldiers were so different. The one with a harsher accent was buffer, wider in the shoulders, and was more relaxed. His brown eyes were squinting in the dim light.

"Well, that's why I do this... For the coin. Remember that Faustus. I'm not as lucky as you." The second one was sleeker, more lean than buff, but his commanding gaze and the cold calculating precision of his words and steady voice made Octavian jump. He was much scarier than his other. 'What an odd partnership...' Octavian thought.

He gave a toothy grin, "Of course I do, sir... Of course I do..." Faustus laughed, "Look at that, you scared the boy stiff, Drusus!" The guard remained unamused.

"He should be frightened." Octavian felt his muscles become rigid and bit down the panic in his throat as Drusus came forward, his steps like thuds in the watery shadows. "You are in the house of the doomed, boy. Give our messages and leave. This is no place for you."

He turned his back to him and ordered Faustus to hurry. Together they dragged the writhing screaming man away into the dimly lit darkness and to the chamber that laid deep in the bowels of the prison.

When the chains on the door rattled as it shut with a loud squeak, the boy suddenly realized that he was alone. The bare passage way was lit by torches, some of which were going out and left the red glow of embers for the darkness to eat later; the black charred stakes of wood dangled from their metal grips along the wall, carcasses of what were once glowing flames.

Octavian felt pity as he walked passed them, ignoring the wailing of the criminals that rang out in the dense darkness further down the corridor. The occasional echoed screech spooked him, but the boy continued.

He traveled deeper and deeper into the jail until it got so dark and damp that he almost thought that he was in a cave. Yet, the ground was still smooth with wet sand. It smelled of sea water too... Were they near the sea?

Nearing a light, Octavian welcomed the burn of yellow and bleeding red and hurried his pace, when he saw the source, an open doorway down a long corridor was filled with the light, and the contrast was so deep that Octavian wondered how the bright yellow didn't pour into the corridor like syrup and color all the walls with its warmth.

"Who is this?" Octavian glanced up from his hood and his heart leapt into his throat. A large man with a spear was guarding the only door that lead into another section.

"I come to check on the man who assaulted Tinian's property—'

"Hold your tongue, nave! " The man barked at him, his helmet glinted in the light harshly but his eyes were hidden by shadow, which only made the man even more unnerving to talk to, "Do not speak of _Lord_ Tinian's business like that, or I'll gut you like the spineless pig you are, slave."

Octavian nodded and bowed his head, 'Remember that... remember that you are a slave when you wear this cloak...' he chanted to himself as he approached the door. The guard opened it and watched him as he gagged.

The stench was horrible. It was wet, warm and sat in the back of your throat no matter how much you coughed. It was probably rotting flesh and feces, the rank stink of piss was heavy in the air. Trying to ignore the memory of what Drusus said bother him, he stepped forward, stopping for nothing.

"Serves you right." The guard cackled at his expression. Though, there was a soft tone to that laugh, as if he were only joking. The grin made the boy smile too.

"Th-thank you, Sir..." The boy choked out a response.

The screams were more like watery mumbles, the occasional gurgle resounded beneath wet coughs within the ebony. These people were not going to last long. Their death is promised to them here. They are dead men waiting for their release to the underworld. Nothing more. Walking carcasses.

Octavian smiled softly, "Like you Lucius... " A loud muffled scream erupted from his near right. A woman was screaming, but not for help... Per say... Octavian would have walked passed that wing of the prison, but halted when he heard her. His mother. "Certa Aut Mori!"

Fight or die.

A smirk made its way across his smart face and turned into a fat grin, relief flooded his spirit, and like his tears that were building in the corners of his eyes poured over his cheeks, it overflowed. Those were the first Latin words he taught her when they first arrived in the city. They had first heard it when they past by a group of soldiers-to-be (maybe) and they chanted it.

She had asked with a playful smile on her lips what they were saying, it took a while to translate, but Octavian eventually told her it was a mantra. After that she started saying it a lot. For the fun of having a foreign language dancing over her tongue, maybe... Whatever the reason, it made the arrival in the new city somewhat more... pleasant.

Fun even.

Now he ran down the corridor, his heart racing as the sounds of clashing metal grew louder, and his stomach growing uneasy as unwanted memories of soldiers, swords and blood, forced their way to the surface. Mentally he found the door they pulsated behind and slammed it shut.

He could still hear the insidious laugh of chaotic fire and screams behind the fragile metaphorical wooden door, hidden deep within the recesses of his mind.

Although using doors as an effort to lock away the memories was a neat trick, it didn't work all the time. The more he slammed the door shut, the weaker it became. The more cracks began to appear.

He panted, leaning his shaking frame on the hard cold wall of brick, dust trickled down and tickled his cheek. Another fitful cough forced its way out his chest as dust got in his eye. It felt sharp. The flesh of his eye grew warm with more tears, but he did not care. His mother was alive and well.

She had to be.

Slapping his face he focused on what was at hand—his problems would have to wait until he was done here. Spitting crimson to his side he raced off.

Swiftly turning a corner and going down the next hall, the blurred shadows and harsh light through the cracks of the brick wall, were swirling around him. Or was it jut his eyes playing tricks on him?

As he ran, dagger in hand, Octavian knew only one thing: fear and death parlay with a raging spirit.

And his spirit was raging like fire.

 

 

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**[... Cutting is wrong kids, don't do it. It's never worth it in the end... (No question for this week...)]**

**Thanks for reading everyone! Don't forget to vote and comment! ;3**

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	17. FIRE’S INFANTILE GLOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even prison can have light...  
> But light can't easily burn away the dampness.

**CHAPTER 10: FIRE’S INFANTILE GLOW**

 

 

His heart raced but he pressed on, ignoring the constant pounding in his chest that racked it with pain. Finally, beyond the bend, the crumbling corner, he spotted an orange glow. He dashed forward.

There was a large cell that took up one half of the small room. It was filthy, made of timber, and dimly lit with flickering torches. Octavian would have searched somewhere else if he didn’t hear it. The rats. They scattered away from the brawl that erupted further back, in the darkness. Sneaking closer, he saw that his mother managed to punch the guard to her right, who was wrestling to hold her still. With a metallic clank the metal helmet hit the hay littered floor with a _plunk,_ and skittered across to where Octavian was standing.

“Hey!” One of the guards spotted the boy, and shoved past the other guard holding his mother down.

Octavian advanced and drew his dagger, enraged, but he was stunned by his mother’s screams, “Run, Octavian!” He stared at her blankly, “What are you waiting for?!” Her eyes pleaded with him, “RUN!” The boy stepped back, suddenly he didn’t feel as brave. He didn’t feel anything but shock.

Stumbling back, he managed to pocket the knife and the guard chased after his fleeting form. The child had sprinted down the slippery corridor, past the empty wooden cells and splashing through putrid remains.

He slid to a halt and grime and, what the boy could only hope was pee, squelched in between his toes. He grimaced but quickly withdrew from the jaded corridor. Upon entering a small room containing crates, barrels, and heaps of straw, he hid in a niche in the wall and he remained still.

The loud slaps of footsteps that chased after him came swiftly and ended in hisses as they crept to a standstill. Octavian could hear everything. The guard’s heavy breathing, the shift of hay and gravel underfoot as he checked every dark spot he could find…

A chill ran down his spine and emptied the blood from his cheeks as the guard’s voice rang out in the darkness, “Come on out… You can’t hide forever!” Phantasm gave way to lucid delirium. Octavian could have sworn the voice sounded… familiar.

A sudden chaotic thrashing of barrels made Octavian jump in his skin. There was nowhere else to go but back. The hole he had hid in was shallow and wet and musty, but he pressed himself in, hard against the stone wall. Holding his breath, he tried not to gasp when the guard flipped barrels over. The frustration birthed anger and Octavian could _feel_ it.

“Come out now!” He bellowed. Octavian covered his mouth when rubble fell from his hole and tumbled to the floor in dusty pillars. His naked bare feet barely made an effective dam to hold the rest of the soot and pebbles. “I might spare your life,” the man bargained.

Racing thoughts made his heart dart from his stomach to his throat as the guard got closer and closer. The soft, but insistent, clank of the man’s armor and the sharp hisses that formed the words he spoke became more and more audible. In fact, Octavian could see the brunette, lurking in the shadows. Moving from one space to the next in such swift succession that it could rival an apparition’s. The boy wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but they didn’t. They stared at the guard as he took his sword and scraped it across the walls unnervingly. It echoed in the heavy black.

Silence rang in his ears. Then, without warning a hand grabbed at him, grasped his thin neck roughly and flung him to the ground. The boy tried to get up but the man kicked him in his stomach, making him dry heave. A low cackle sounded from behind as the guard watched him struggle. Octavian felt the cold, hard slime of the ground as his face was stomped into it. Blue eyes squeezed themselves shut as the guard rubbed his heel deeper into his skull, “Ah!” He cried and clawed at the boot, hot tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. “Get off!”

_Crack_! His voice was cut from his throat and retreated as he gasped. Mouth agape, frozen in contorted pain as the air of his lungs blasted out of him, he gagged. The guard had found it funny. He had kicked in the boy’s ribs and observed as he slowly writhed in the throbbing agony. Octavian cradled himself and found his voice, belting it out into a twisted wail.

_Crack!_ Another kick to silence him. The guard only smirked at him, “Pathetic.” Shaking his head he seized hold of his collar, nearly ripping it, and dragged the boy up with a jerk. Octavian’s head rolled and bounced to his chest. Watery blue eyes glared up at grinning black ones, “Let me show you something… in case you weren’t clear,” the guard spat. And flinging the boy forward he lead him back to his mother. As soon as Octavian saw the opening, the section that his mother was imprisoned in, he ran ahead—the guard’s steady footsteps never changing in the shadows.

What he saw glued him to the spot.

His mother’s clothes were torn open at the front, her half her chest exposed, her hands clung to the walls as the guard behind her grappled her waist, lifting her dress and using his sword to rip the hem slowly. This was the guard that his mother knocked the helmet off of… His smug smile made the blood in Octavian’s veins run colder than it ever did before.

The man’s free hand ran down her leg, shifting the cloth away as he drifted down and caressed the inside of her thigh. His mother remained still, her eyes hidden beneath a curtain of her raven black hair.

_Why?_

Octavian shook his head.

_Why?_

The words failed him over and over again as he trembled.

_Why isn’t she doing anything?_

“Get away from her!” The boy shrieked. Behind him, the guard slammed the hilt of his sword in the back of the boy’s neck. Octavian’s knees hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud. And as if that was not enough, the guard took his foot and pressed it to his back. Blonde hair fell into brooding eyes as the boy fought against the boot that forced him down, “Get off her!” He choked as he watched as the man licked her neck. He felt so sick.

“No, no, no…” The other guard took off his helmet, revealing light brown hair and deep set black eyes that glinted in the dim gold light. He wagged his finger at him, “You see, _we_ are in charge here, boy.” He smiled as he stomped in his back, the child collapsed after a curt guttural scream. Anger made him quake.

The guard circled him and kneeling down in the middle of his back, he pinned him down. He held up his head by his blonde hair, tugging at the follicles to watch the boy’s head bob and jig up and down, like some dumb wooden puppet. Both guards laughed when Octavian’s cheeks were squeezed between his tormenter’s index fingers, as they dug into his jaw. He said something jeeringly and nodded the boy’s head. Again they both exploded.

Octavian glanced up at his mother. His cheek black and blue and right eye swollen. The hopelessness of the situation ran deep and finally twanged on Octavian’s comprehension of the reality that governed him and everyone else. He exhaled sharply, inhaling shakily as he wept bitterly.

The guard that had him pinned whistled to his friend, “Oye! Leave some of that for me, eh?” His friend chuckled and bit the woman’s ear as he messed around under her ripped dress. She remained silent, and Octavian only hoped that there was anger boiling underneath. He wanted to see that guard’s face when she bludgeoned him with his own sword.

“Yeah? First come first serve’s usually the rule, right? I’ll be nice this time.” He saw Octavian’s face and smirked, “Kid she’s much older than you… If she’s been leading you on...” Nodding to his friend he cleared his throat as he sobered his laughing, “You can have a piece when we’re finished, right Germanus?” Slowly, however, he narrowed his eyes in regard to the boy, “Hey, Germanus?… Didn’t you rough him up a bit… too much…?”

“Kid was packing a knife. I don’t think so.” He raised a brow, “And children these days need to realize that this isn’t a place to play!” Patting Octavian’s head, he continued, “They can’t just come in here and bust out their friends, or uncles, or aunts, or their _lovers_ ,” he glanced at the blonde with skepticism woven thick into the very words he spat in his direction, “No matter how much you love ‘em…”

“Yeah…” The guard suddenly snatched the woman’s hand. From them he pried the keys to open the cell from her fist and tossed them to Germanus, “Here,” he smiled at the indignant brunette, “almost forgot.” He kissed her cheek, smiling wider when she brushed him off. “Ooh~” he bit his bottom lip as he whispered, “You are a _naughty_ little—“

Octavian bucked and tried to smash his skull against the guard’s nose, but failed with a miserable flop. Germanus held him down, “Marcus, take your eyes off that woman long enough to talk to the boy, will ya?” He interrupted.

The guard sighed exasperatedly and threw up his sword hand, “Germanus, I hardly think that this is the time—“, he paused and sighed again when his friend gave him _that_ look, “Fine. Kid!” Only Octavian’s pin sized pupils moved as they swept across the features of the guard’s face. Memorizing features. Scoring them into his memory. The man’s dark eyes, definitive smile, chiseled chin and cheek bones, along with his slinkier stature and lean muscle. He spared no detail.

Marcus saw what the child was doing and frowned. “Kid… My brother Germanus is right… Women like this?” he pat his mother’s butt and shook his head, “They aren’t something you love… It’s just not worth it.” His right hand rested on his mother’s tummy, the distance that dampened his presence, froze it in another time as the man’s mind drifted elsewhere, came about by the inner workings of the stranger’s subconscious, no doubt. The way he suddenly grew tired, Octavian recognized it. How his eyes seem to sink into his skull—or maybe very the start of it-- how this handsome man’s skin no longer glowed, but faded to ghostly pale… He looked into the man’s dark eyes and saw within them himself.

And he was afraid.

Marcus’s pink lips etched up in one corner, the other too leaden to follow soothe. “They aren’t the marrying type…”

“They are more the… uh… fucking type…” Germanus explained.

The blonde sighed and rested his forehead on the sweaty stone floor, feeling the dirt and oily grime coat his hair and skin. His clothes were ripped from the neck down to his shoulder, so cold crept in and made him shiver. “…can I sit up, please?” His hoarse voice awakened the scratchy ache of his throat and he coughed violently.

Marcus gave Germanus the go ahead and up came Octavian. Dizzy and frail and pale. All he could think of was the slow build of something in his… somewhere. It burned, but not as hotly as before. For now that simmering flame would have to do, he did not have the strength nor the rageful stupidity to rip away his sanity once more and to feed it. To nurture it. “She’s not my lover…” Octavian licked his busted lip, his blue eyes peering from the haze of the tender swelling, “She’s my mother…”

Germanus was the one to break the silence, “She ages well…” Marcus nodded, being very much bewildered, Octavian noted.

Before anyone could say anything, a trumpet sounded somewhere above the surface of this damp, earthy storage unit. Its boom lasted for over several heart beats. It quickened Octavian’s. With one look from his mother, that one fiery look of defiance, he understood. “Yes,” he palmed his dagger quickly and stabbed Germanus in the knee before Marcus could warn him, “Yes, she does. When the man howled, Octavian bolted.

He crashed into barrels and crates often, and the swollen eye left him groping for the walls, but he kept running. He would have to come back later. Tears streamed down his face as he ran, his feet pounding on stone as he contemplated the difficult task ahead of him. He could not be as careless as he was this time around. Orange glows burned bright reds to yellows to soot black, he found the corridor where the shadows retreated away from the light behind the giant wooden door. No one was there.

Breathing heavily, the boy was able to lift the bar that he had placed there originally. Octavian felt like he had drank a cup of snake venom, his were lungs burning and his throat wasn’t in much better condition. He grunted as his muscles seized; finally he slid away the heavy lead bar from its socket. It dropped with a deadening _pong!_ As he pushed open the large wooden door, he could taste the smog and sharp cold air, a welcome difference from the dank and earthy air he had been breathing.

He had made it half way when someone grabbed his wrist. He pulled and screamed and kicked but the guard—Marcus—was strong. He picked the boy up and tossed him over his shoulder to keep him under control.

Octavian thrashed around, his arms flailing and frantically grasping unto the door, the iron latch, anything he could get his hands unto. “Boy, let-- go!” The boy’s fingers slipped and from the bar’s socket, he was yanked. He screamed and screamed and screamed. His throat raw and his eyes stinging with tears. He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t afraid.

The world was just unfair.

He had seen it, the morning. He had seen it and smelled it and tasted it, but he couldn’t have it. He belonged to the night and it’s dank, earthy recesses, where the torches burned dim and flickered before they perished into soot… Where fragmented cries of the damned appeal to the indifferent… Where the dark shadows dance in the shifty corners of his sight, taking form and shape of the _things_ that haunted and molested his dreams, until they were nothing more than snip-its— A period of malignant torture!

To the point when not even the infantile glow of those flames could scorch the darkness away in the morning light that seemed forever caught in his blue eyes. They were all that remained from the incubi—the dreams.

Those haunting flames and their flickering whispers of fragmented nightmares that existed only when he closed his eyes.

The world just was just and fair.

 

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	18. IN DARK-WATERS LIES GOLD

**CHAPTER 11: IN DARK-WATERS LIES GOLD**

 

As the man dragged him back into the watery-dark by the cuff of his collar, he cried still. His shoulder bare and his feet shredded and bloody from skidding and running on the brittle course stone.

He decided: _the world was unfair._

He coughed again and then he started bawling. "Kid!" Marcus slapped him when he didn't respond, and yet still he continued, getting louder and louder until it was a hollowing wail. He had enough. "Kid, that's enou—"

"Why. Don't. You. Just. Kill. Me?!" He screamed and pounded at the guard's chest-plate with every word. Struggling with the guard, he managed to clutch unto the man's sword, sliding down to his knees, he looked up. His blue eyes were washed out by the tears, but his hatred was as clear-cut as glass.  

Marcus watched, dismayed by the child. "Please... ". Octavian slowly shook his head, his voice barely audible, "Kill _me_... Not my mother..." He forced the tears down with growing self-disgust, "She did nothing wrong..."

When Marcus wouldn't look him in the eye, he stood up and gripped the collar of his uniform, forcing him to look, "I took it. I am the thief," his bottom lip trembled, "I am the guilty one. Not her. Please... Kill me and set her free... Do not leave her in this place..." his unnaturally steady voice was only a whisper in the damp ebony, but the guard still flinched under its sincerity and watched as the boy kneeled before him. As if he were waiting for the sword.

"Yeah, what did you take?" The guard narrowed his eyes when Octavian struggled to answer.

"I-I can pay you... Then you can—"

He sighed, "No I can't," Marcus frowned, "I-it doesn't work that way... She has to be put on some sort of trial..." When Octavian cringed at the boom of his voice, he pursed his lips and spoke in a softer tone, "I am ...sorry."

Octavian remained on his knees, numb and cold.

_The world was unfair._

He mumbled something. Marcus sighed, rubbed his tired eyes and ran his hand through his hair, "What?"

Octavian looked up.

Marcus repeated, "What did you say?"

The boy's mouth opened and closed, "I stabbed your friend..."

'...Yes... Yes you did. I would throw you into a cell, but I can't blame you... I wanted to do the same thing anyway..." he chuckled, "I told him to leave you be." When he saw how gaunt the child looked his smile dulled. He wasn't good with children. Never was.

They always freaked him out.

"Hey, don't worry about it... okay? The wound is not that deep." The man knelt beside Octavian and ruffled his hair, trying his best to ignore how crusty it was in certain patches—possibly caked blood? Besides that, it was otherwise quite soft... and thin. "I would have stabbed him too! Talks too much." He grinned again but got no response from the boy.

After a few awkward moments, he spoke, "Let me do it."

The guard gave him a quizzical look, "What are you talking about this time?"

Octavian licked his lips slowly, his hand drifted to the man's cheek, "Let me take her place. Punish me..."

Silence. Marcus looked into the boy's eyes and saw the unfathomable desperation that birthed from them. "Um... no." The man replied, "No, I don't think so." Marcus got up and pulled the boy up with him, "Do not repeat that ever again."

"Why?" Octavian pressed, "You are ready, I am willing—and I am not going to allow you to do _it_ with my _mother_!"

"Ah!" Marcus covered his ears, "Alright, damn! Stop calling her... _that_!"

"What, my mother? Because that's what she is!"

Marcus glared at the boy, "I won't do anything with her then."

"You will, you freaking liar!"

The man reached for his neck as if to strangle him, "Why are you so _annoying_! Lower your voice! I will not partake in anything with _you_ or your—... that..." he struggled for the words, " _woman_!" He got in Octavian's face and whispered harshly, "Do you know what men here do to boys like you?" He pronounced every syllable with malice, "They. Rape. Them."

Octavian didn't budge, "Like you were going to do with my mother?"

Marcus threw up his hands and cursed under his breath rapidly, walking back and forth, as if deciding whether or not to try and scare him again. Suddenly he stopped. He roughly held up the boy's chin. "What happened to your eye?"

"Your _friend_ beat it into my skull." The boy retorted.

"Stop whining." Marcus pushed Octavian into the flickering light, near the torch on the wall, and squinted as he examined the child's eye. "It was black n' swollen before...!"

"Wow. You caught that too? I'm _impressed_."

Marcus pinched him, "I said stop messing around." He pointed, "Your eye is healing. How?"

"Do people not heal by themselves normally? By the gods, either fuck me or kill me, please. Spare me the idiocy!" Octavian scowled at the guard, who, either, maintaining a growing interest in the boy remained unprovoked as a result, or, generally and legitimately refused to break his resolve for the counters of a child.

"Your eye is healing." He stepped forward, forcing Octavian to look up at him, his back against the wall while Marcus' face inched closer. His hand resting on the wall beside the boy's head, "How?"

Octavian swallowed loudly and ground his teeth, "I heal quickly."

"How?"

"I—I do not know."

"How can you _not_ know?!" Marcus gasped animatedly and whispered, "Is it an elixir?"

Octavian didn't know whether or not to be amused by the fact that a roman guard, who could kill him at any moment, was entertained by the idea that he could be making elixirs for fun. _What does he think I am? A witch in my spare time?_ "No."

He actually seemed quite disappointed. "Then how...?"

"I am—", Octavian felt blood rush up to his cheeks and he looked away, "I-I won't tell you why until you swear on... uh... Jupiter's stone, that you will protect my mother."

Marcus sucked in air through his teeth but when Octavian raised his brow his act crumbled. "You really love your..." he grimaced, "... _mother_... Don't you boy...?"

Octavian nodded, "What were you talking about when you said 'not the marrying type'?" He noticed that the man did not swear on anything...

"Uh-ah, never mind that!" The guard laughed anxiously, "It's not important." He brushed a lock of hair out of his eye, "Women, you can fuck 'em all you like, but that doesn't mean they want you back, you know?" Marcus clapped Octavian's back, "And drop that nonsense, okay?"

"What nonsense?"

"... Don't... don't offer yourself up like that." His tone became serious, "Not to me. Not to _anyone_. Understand?" Blue eyes flitted up to look at the pensive face of the guard, Marcus' faced forward as if he were tied there by some... invisible force— when a string shone bright as light but as _thin_ as spider's web and then dissipated as quickly as it appeared, Octavian swiftly looked back to the ground, blinking rapidly, before Marcus saw him staring. "I do not know your story, what both of you have been doing while travelling... but don't."

Octavian nearly scoffed at the sincerity and warmth that leaked from the cracks within the man's resolution, he was never going to allow the man to do anything with him. He would have went on his knees, took him deep in his mouth and stab him right between the legs. There was a vein there, that when cut, would easily do the killing for him. Most male animals had one.

His mother taught him that.

The boy would have taken the man's sword and then sneak away to finish off his 'friend' too. "Why?" He let the man continue talking and slowly Marcus loosened his grip on his arm, allowing him to reach in his left pocket. "Why is it such a bad thing? People create the demand and are willing to pay for it, why not fulfil their wishes."

Marcus remained quiet for some time now, he lead Octavian back down the dusty corridor. This was where the ground was sticky with what the boy identified as piss. It stung his cut feet. He hissed and halted his march to his doom for a few seconds; it was then Marcus did something that surprised him. He took him in his arms, and with his sandaled feet, continued down the dark corridor. "It's not worth it."

Octavian's brows wrinkled in confusion as he gave Marcus a pointed look, "What do you mean?"

"The money... Give it some time... and you won't want it anymore." Octavian could hear the shifting of wet sand as Marcus turned the all-too-familiar corner, "When you've given up your everything to every and anyone, you realise that the coin you get will never be enough to replace what you've given up." Octavian stared at the young man and the gears in his head began to turn.

The blonde guessed that Marcus had his fair share of bad experiences. His own loneliness to battle. "I'm sorry." Marcus nodded. They were getting closer to the corridor with the lit room at the end of it; the dim red light peeked from the corner. They reached the junction and Marcus' cheeks glistened.

Octavian decided, "The world is... just and fair." He gingerly wiped the man's cheek with the white of his palm.

Marcus glanced at the boy and a jovial smile placed itself firmly on the man's lips, "Yeah?" Octavian could almost feel the joke coming, "Maybe we can stop by Justicia's temple and she'll bless you."

It was bad as expected.

"Justice is a curse, not a blessing." Marcus laughed, "Here." Octavian almost regretted giving it to the man; his dagger glinted dully in the light, reflecting it into Marcus' dark eyes. They narrowed at him and it scared the boy. "I-I'm sorry... I—Here. Just take it."

Marcus set him down and took the little knife, which seemed even smaller in his hands, and put it in his belt, "You are the strangest boy I have ever met."

"And how many boys have you met before?" Octavian asked as he folded his arms.

"Good point..." The smile returned, and so did Octavian's peace of mind, but the fading image of that string that glowed so ethereally... It haunted his memory, invoking bad recollections. "Can you get your mother to give back what she stole?" The boy's eyes widened in regard to Marcus' words.

_There was hope... after all...?_

They had stopped walking. The ethereal orange glow of the torches, traced gently, the guard's face, sculpting his features out of the darkness; it made his dark eyes less unnerving as it revealed the warm brown hidden underneath the shadows.

"People come in here every day... For different crimes." The light dispelled the darkness around the man and it released half of his form, the metal armor that protected his chest, the red cloth that hung from his belt, the gilded belt that from it, hung his short sword—all of this, it gave color and life to the man called Marcus, but not as much as his smile. He spoke, "Sometimes we... run out of space?" The tone of his voice. It remained ambiguous and open for translation. Octavian felt the compression of his chest ease up a little as he released the sadness and relinquished it to the darkness.

Finally, a language he could understand.

"Marcus?" Octavian's eyes blinked away the dust and looked into the man's, "How do you stay here? In the dark?" An echo of a prisoner's scream reminded him eerily of where he was.

"I have to." The roman ruffled his hair and exhaled heavily, "Justice has many partners, but few children..."

"... Some justice you were serving." Octavian glared at the man, "What you were doing to my mother was _not_ justice!" He snarled as Marcus started to laugh.

"And, back then?" he snorted, "You were memorising my features so if you escaped, you could find me and then kill me, yeah? Would that be justice?" He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the light, his eyes hidden by his brown hair, "Your mother did not do anything to stop me, did she."

It wasn't a question.

In an instant, the warmth left Marcus' eyes, and he advanced on Octavian slowly, backing him up to the wall again, "No. she did not. She would have got away back then if you had ran the minute she yelled at you... Maybe she would have dealt with me easier because Germanus was gone. Maybe she would have gotten my keys faster."

The child bore his teeth like a wolf, but it was tears that fell in that brittle silence, not a fierce growl. He was tired of them.

The tears.

They made him feel emptier than he needed to feel. And they certainly didn't make him feel stronger or braver, or—

"Hey," A surprise. Marcus held his cheek, his large hand cupping his face, as he knelt and met Octavian eye to eye. "Everything is going to be okay." Biting his bottom lip and squeezing his eyes shut he swallowed loudly and shook his head. "You do not believe me?" Marcus asked.

A sniffle was his answer.

Marcus smiled softly, "Like I said, I do not know your stories. I did not know that she was your _mother_." He glanced up and pulled a face as if the gods were expressing their disapproval. "But, what I do know was that she was arrested because she had taken some food from the market. And what I read in the report, and what actually happened are two different accounts."

"She didn't steal anything?" When Marcus shook his head 'no', Octavian's shoulders trembled.

Whatever kept him stone cold was melting. Rapidly.

"She was about to pay when someone—I am not sure if it was the vendor or the Sentry that was on guard duty that day—uttered a racial slur. Which escalated to the woman being sexually harassed publicly," the man held the child's hands and squeezed them gently, "and she took the Sentry's sword and injured some people."

He smiled, "Some of those people have been discovered and found guilty of public harassment of an unmarried 'minor'—a woman who is not married and a slave is property of the state— an offence like that is not forgivable, _especially_ because it was done publicly."

"What does this have to do with justice?"

"Shh," Marcus calmed the boy, "She was arrested for taking the Sentry's sword, but in ink it says she was arrested for theft because the crowd of vendors nearby were shouting it. The inconsistency caught the attention of some and in the end, your mother was stamped as 'Undecided' and moved there," he nodded to the lit room at the end of the corridor. "The 'Undecided' are basically free to leave if someone from their family, and or, someone who is an _established_ roman citizen, comes to collect them... You are travellers, yeah?"

"Yes." Octavian wiped away his tears irritably, "So where is the justice!?"

"If no one could set her free, then she would be auctioned off in the market as a slave. If she escaped, no one would look for her. She was never convicted, so why search for someone who has not committed a crime?" The guard smiled apologetically, "I know it sounds bad, but to get her the keys without looking suspicious I needed a normal, legitimate reason to be near her."

"And fucking your prisoners is _normal_ here."

"If they're attractive." Octavian scowled but Marcus continued, "Anyway, you turning up to help her escape was not part of the plan. So her escape is delayed."

The boy's mouth fell open in disbelief, "So this _my_ fault?"

"Correct."

Octavian messaged between his eyes as the anger built up in his chest, "My fault," he derided. "So what now?"

"I leave you here and distract Germanus—if your mother hasn't already killed him—and give her the keys..." He whispered.

Blonde hair melted to burning red in the light, "I still feel like stabbing you because of what you did to my mother... but... If I trust what you say, it really is my fault..." He studied Marcus' nervous smile, " _If_ I trust what you say."

"The only other option would be for me to marry her." He offered.

"No."

Marcus swallowed his laughter and clapped Octavian's back, "What? You don't want a father?"

Octavian pursed his lips and was about to give Marcus some choice words when a trumpet belted its note, dissipating the darkness and piercing it like a light would do through water, becoming warped and subdued, yet still strong and vibrant and clear. "What was that?"

Marcus' face hardened, his back to the light that spilt from the doorway into the dark corridor and his figure traced with that golden light. Octavian looked back from whence they had come, and just like Marcus, he felt the light on his back as he stared into the _dark_.

Eyes of blue and black studied the obscurity and strained their ears. Octavian felt his shoulder weigh down as the guard squeezed his shoulder—he wasn't into this touching thing. He had his opportunity for this, why was the man being so nice to him now...?

—"Boy," Octavian's thoughts were interrupted by a hiss of a whisper, "Here." Octavian felt the familiar rubber of the hilt of his dagger being pressed into hi palm. The boy slipped it into his clothes and glanced up at Marcus, who kept his gaze steadily pointed into the dark before them. He whispered, "When I say run. Run." Their eyes met, "As fast as you can."

Marcus stepped forward and shouted, "Who advances?"

Only the approaching sound of marching feet replied, echoing in the watery black.

 

 

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	19. THROUGH PAST PAPER-SINS

**CHAPTER 12: THROUGH PAST PAPER-SINS**

 

Octavian didn't know what to do. His mother was right in that room behind him. He had Marcus on his side (well... maybe...), and now more guards have popped up. Did he make too much of a ruckus? How would the guards differentiate his screams from the sea of wails and groans that ebbed and flowed within the dark prison?

Marcus mumbled.

"What?"

"Curro!" Marcus glanced at the guards, and as soon as they came close enough, he shouted at Octavian, "What are you waiting for, naïve!" His dark eyes flashed in the harsh light. "Go!" He pointed to the lit room with all the cells. His sudden strictness caught the boy off guard.

_Curro_? Octavian translated quickly... And his legs moved before his brain could comprehend: _"Run!"_ That was what Marcus was telling him to do. Through the darkness, he sprinted, past the guards, past the glowing torches and that room Germanus had caught him in, and dodging barrels and wooden crates stacked high. Swiftly he curbed one and kicked it down, catching one sentry who yelled in surprise. He was getting farther and farther away from the lit room—and from the angry guards he had just pushed crates over.

He only registered the quick flashes of armor and red cloth peeking from behind a corner and avoided them. There was no room for error now. He tripped on a stone and skid his knee in wet sand, sending grains flying into his eye.

Or not...

He scrambled up and continued to run until he couldn't hear the voices of those guards. If Octavian didn't know any better, Marcus was enjoying chasing him way too much...

He slowed down to a limp jog, panting and swallowing back a cough. Staggering, he took a breather.

He was here; the entrance stared back at him.

The black oaken door that loomed high, glinting with iron enforcements was in front of him, no guards in sight. Octavian could only hope they were all looking for an escapee or something—although the chances of that happening were slim. That metal bar he had trouble lifting before—the dumb thing had cost him his escape last time—stared back at him with what Octavian picked up as defiance.

"I'm leaving _you_ on the floor." He huffed as he heaved.

"He went this way!" The voices of quarreling sentries echoed right behind the boy as he slipped into the crack of the door and to the outside. Just as he disappeared on the other side, into the morning, his cloak shawling his face, the guards ran in to see a shaking door bar. "Where did he go...?"

 

Octavian scurried along the long narrow pebbled road, gritting his teeth as he bit back tears called forth by his blood-shodden feet that skid across the stones. He gripped his cloak so hard that he may have torn holes through the rough fabric.

When he was in an alley, he removed the cloak's hood and took deep breathes. The place smelled much better than that of the cramped pissy storage box they called a jail.

_Then again, could that even be called a jail?_

Having slid down until his forehead rested on his folded knees, the boy cried. He had been so close. "I am so tired..." The city was beginning to wake, a gust of wind screamed through the small crack of an alleyway and carried the sounds of hundreds of people—probably at the market bargaining for a better price for fish... The price had gotten higher this past few days after all.

Octavian didn't want fish. He wanted his mother. You couldn't give a fish a hug—well, he could... but it would look extremely weird... Octavian reached into his shirt underneath his cloak and felt the small bag of rings that dangled on a lace around his neck. They jingled softly as he lifted it out of the shirt and opened it. Inside, the lion rings stared back at him, their black jeweled eyes as cold as usual. "I will find you, Lucius. And you will pay for this..."

The boy closed the small bag by pulling the string and hid it once more under his clothes. As he stood, he stretched, getting ready for at least a mile of travel. The market was where everything happened. It was the news epicenter.

Of course, news could be easily falsified, or exaggerated, but he was curious. Where would respected men of Rome live?

_And where in particular he could find a dark enough alley to kill him in?_

The boy made his way down the street, taking off his hood in order to fit in more. His hair made him stick out like a sore thumb, but at least he looked peasant-y enough to excuse people's suspicion.

He had to be careful. On certain streets, he had already been mistaken as a Gaelic. And that didn't end very well for him. To be honest, all his encounters happened near the outskirts of town, so he figured that he should be safe here, as long as he babbled a few words of the Gaelic language when confronted by some drunken sods. "Yeah... Nothing bad could possibly happen now," the boy said sarcastically.

With his luck he'd have more chances of getting hit by a donkey cart than finding information about Lucius. Octavian blew a strand of hair out of his clear-cut blue eyes as he strode down the streets, gazing at the grandeur of the white pillared buildings and sculpted fountains that he passed by.

The steps were scattered with young boys, some hunched over busy playing a game or two, the others probably laying down bets. Octavian stayed clear of them.

The youth were not his forte.

After a few minutes, the boy found the market. A huge court that spread as far as the eye could see. There was a grand temple that glistened on a green carpeted hill and overlooked this area. The vendors had their goods laid out on rickety wooden stalls, or in fat saggy baskets— some overflowing with fruit and nuts. He noticed that the poorer folk traded while the rich (or more likely, the servants of the rich) paid with coin.

Blue eyes spotted a bunch of dried figs that looked similar to the ones that used to grow near the fringes of the rough part of the city, back home. As the boy recalled, they grew on tall slender trees, with green-blue leaves the size of him that fanned out in graceful extravagance. They were always fun to climb.

"Oye, boy!" Octavian snapped out of it and looked up to the vendor. The stout, chubby, young woman called out to him in a crackly cough, "Buy or keep walkin'." Her dark eyes squinted under the bright sunlight of the day and leathery tan skin wrinkled near her elbows and under her eyes as if to swallow them. She had her head wrapped tightly, concealing her straight black hair that seemed to peek from underneath in rebellious curls. She clearly didn't trust him. "Don' let me say it again boy."

"I can trade...?" He offered. The lady's thick eye brow raised, before she could speak he told her something that shut her up, "I'm looking for information. Not food. Tell me where the silver bird sings, and then we'll talk about our exchange."

"... Come wit me." The lady called to man behind her, lazily strewn across a carpeted floor, nestled neatly in a section of other goods that were kept in baskets, creating a sort of wall for anyone to sleep if one needed some privacy.

The man shot up with a jolt and a snort. A tan leathery face, touched by age and sun, peeked out from behind the wall of baskets. His hat covered his eyes, matching his greying beard that twitched as he sniffed. "Wake up y'er ole _spaz_ (or at least that is what Octavian thought she said)," he cleared his throat and the woman sighed before removing a bag of coin from her chest and flinging it down in his open hands.

He jungled the bag and nodded to himself, "Don't get y'er self inta trouble now, darling."

The lady grunted in reply. Octavian having received a glare from the old man for lingering, defiantly threw a glance back before quickly making his way through the maze of baskets of spices, leeks, and breads, and jogged after the woman.

She had short fat legs, but she knew how to use them. She was already in another tiny alleyway by the time he got close to her. Tucked away deep in the dark, behind her stall, she waited for him with her arms crossed across her large chest.

As he reached her side she put out her hand but Octavian shook his head. He wasn't that naïve. "Give me a taste of what you know, then comes the payment."

"This payment... I'm curious to what it might-be." When Octavian remained silent she rolled her eyes and threw her jiggly arms into the air, "Why, has the gods cursed me wit a kind heart? I'm here to help _you_ , you know?"

When he stared at her blankly, she huffed and cursed him underneath her breath, "Fine. Lucius... the man with the head of silver." She sneered, obviously amused with his predicament, her eyes wrinkled and she flashed him a toothy grin, "They shoulda called 'im the one wit the tongue o' silver."

"Get on with it."

"Fine! He lives over in the East, yeah, in the East." She tapped her left foot idly as she thought, "There was a few problems a week ago and his master had to move someplace better," a cough interrupted her raspy report, "and I think I 'eard a few days be'ore you came to me, that he and his master were movin' to the East end of the city." Scratching her elbow she glanced back at her stall, "If ya ask me, I'd say he and his master would be in the Eastern centre, somewhere close to the House of the Julii..." she trailed off.

Octavian looked back to see the faint figure of an elderly man making a sale with a serving-maiden. Her beautiful white dress could be seen from way back here as she walked away with a bag of figs and nuts, she waved at the old man and a bracelet shone in the sunlight that danced along her shapely frame, making her skin glow.

After a few minutes she disappeared into the crowd and shade. More people were arriving in the market. Late comers signaled the arrival of thieves. The lady was going to leave him soon.

"One more thing—"

Ah, ah, ah, payment."

Octavian ignored her and carried on, "I need you to translate something for me as well." She opened her mouth to shout at him but he held up the bag around his neck, dangling it so her eyes followed it. She snapped out of it and wrinkled her nose slightly; he had only minutes if he was going to do this. "I have found this," he took out a piece of paper from the inside beast pocket and handed it to the lady, "It was on the streets of the country I when some foreign soldiers were encroaching our borders—"

"Shut up and let me read!" The blond pursed his lips and tried not to seem angry, the lady glanced up and stared at him for a while, her dark eyes seemed darker in the warm shadows of mid-day, "You seem to know a lot 'bout this war business... I don' see ya mum. You an orphan?"

"No."

"Then where is she—"

"Can you just translate the message!?" To Octavian's disbelief, the lady sniggered. It was then he noticed, if she didn't frown so much, she was beautiful. Very, beautiful in fact. Her eyes wrinkled in a way that it flattered her age. Her bronzed face was round with happy cheeks and full lips. Her Arabian black hair curled short from under her bandana while still framing her face, hiding her pierced ears. He decided not to say anything when she gave him a questioning look.

"Anyway... It's a letter. An' it's from a important man." She scratched the back of her neck, "My advice? Burn it now, when you still got the chance." Stepping closer, specks of light that glared down from the holes in the pelt above them, seem to polka-dot her figure.

The animal skin was stretched across the small alley to the stalls a few feet away and provided shade for the vendors—they weren't supposed to do this, but you know... no one really cares if they're getting the cool shade too.

The harsh sunlight shone down and warm orange filtered through, searing away a layer of darkness from the shadows and banishing the darker ones a few paces back, away from the market. The lady continued, speaking just loud enough for him to hear beneath the prattle of the market place. "It reads:

 

_Occidunt mulier et peur. Ut sicut ordo de Statu. Propter eam causam illi defensurum._

_Quae capit . Non acquiescentes defectum, Calix_

_gloriam eius,_

_Cassius Sypris Pectoris._ "

 

"Yeah, I know that part." He also remembered the blood and the rotting wound that stripped off muscle and melted skin into black puss. That man's decaying face haunted him. He had no idea how he could picture his dead body so well, but somehow he managed to do exactly that. It came to him in a dream a few days ago when his mother was taken away.

He also remembered the note that he had found on Calix's person when he searched him.

"Could you hurry?" He got antsy as people started to glance back where they were standing from across the stalls.

She shushed him, and fanning her hand at him, motioned for him to keep quiet, "It translates to— give or take a few errors—

 

' _Kill the woman and the boy. As to the order of the state. This is the reason they defend. Do what it takes. We do not accept failure, Calix_

_His glory,_

_Cassius Sypris Pectoris'_."

 

She looked up at him and Octavian swallowed down the bile. Who was Cassius Sypris Pectoris? And more importantly, why was he after them? "Kid... like I said," the woman's voice cut into his fretting mind and he exhaled softly as she handed it back to his trembling hands, "Burn it."

"I will." Taking the necklace by the fist, he popped the thread as he yanked the thing off. Tossing it to the lady he turned back and reluctantly said, "You should ask someone to sell those for you..."

He saw the terror in her eyes as she beheld the golden jeweled-eyed lion ring, "Where did ya get this...?" She looked at him fiercely but then shook her head before hastily pocketing the bag of the rings and briskly walking past him. He only heard her mumble, "Don' bother. I don' wanna know."

He only hoped that she'd take his advice. Looking back at the old man and woman at their stall, shielded by the harsh sun and under the warm shade of the day as they sold breads, nuts, grapes and figs, along with other somewhat familiar spices, other baskets sat heavily with plums and a strange plump red fruit, their sweet tangy scent was mingled with sour peppers. Looking back he saw how they collected their coins and bargained amongst the customers. Exchanging hands as well as exchanging jokes.

And maybe stories too.

He was not welcomed back, smiling to himself, he accepted that fact and backed away into the alley-dark. His eyes never leaving the chattering scene of vendors, fresh bread and young petty thieves on the lookout for some young petty fun; the lady's beautiful old smile and the loud gawfaw-laugh of the greying-old man steadying himself with a machete.

The colorful picture never remained still. Changing here. Changing there.

The reds, the blues the blacks and speckled yellows. Baskets full. In stalls lined up in rows and piled high. The food. The people. All in motion.

It made him sad to see it dim under the shadows, but he had to go. Soon as he turned his back to the market, its scene, its sound melted away and all he felt and heard was the chilling whisper of the hollowing anger he felt.

Through past paper-sins he learnt of their odds.

And he aimed to change them.

 

 

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Thanks for reading, guys, remember to **vote** and **comment** to show your appreciation!

**Question of the Week:** _"Have any of you been to a live market? With baskets of fruit and veges laid out in front of you?"_

( _my answer) It's really nice ^^_

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	20. BETRAYAL'S WATER SOURS

**CHAPTER 13: BETRAYAL'S WATER SOURS**

 

Racing down the alley-ways he took a sharp right and slowed down. He took a break near a deserted stone horse trough. The water pooling around it was muddy and smelled raw and fishy. He didn't care. Rolling up his pants legs, he tossed his cloak over the L-shaped plank hanging above.

And slushing through the dank earthy sludge, he made it to the trough and looked around before twisting the knob of heavy metal. He had done it hard enough and managed to snap the rotting plug right off. It left a hole. Scraping away the moss, he let the grime trickle out of the hole and took off his shirt. He then cupped it to catch the water that spluttered forth from the rusted hole.

Making a sack, he held it up and tipped it sideways, letting the shirt strain away most of the sediment, he put his lips under and drank.

Then he put his head under to feel the cold rush over his ears, soak his hair, splash over his neck, and wash the sweat and grunge away.

He sighed when he remembered that he had not bathed since being thrown about in the filthy holding cells. As he finished the last of the water, he threw his head back, his face to the sky and mouth slightly agape as he breathed deeply. Water ran down his shoulders, down the crease of his back and trickled into the pool below. He kept his eyes closed as he listened.

The area was deserted mostly. He had heard a small group of women heading to the market with their baskets pressed to their swaying hips—slaves going to shop for the week maybe. They tittered and giggled at him.

He didn't mind too much because they went on their way. As soon as they were gone he dipped his shirt in the stone trough, water falling in columns, and washed himself. The feeling of cold water against naked skin was great, especially when he scrubbed down hard enough. Wringing out the cloth he flashed out the water, flinging a shower of droplets into the pool of water he stood in.

Taking his cloak, he put his shirt back on, his eyes still scanning the area. His feet brushed dry pavement, warmed by the sun; the stones that layered the ground cracked and splintered away into dirt road. He was getting closer to the Eastern side of the city, but not its center. He sighed and ran his hand through his blond hair, now beaded with water droplets, "I don't want flees... I'll cut this as soon as I get her out..."

"Or maybe I should get it cut now..." There was a small nasal voice.

Octavian's brows wrinkled, he needed to find a way to get his mother out of that place now, why would he concern himself with his hair length...? He didn't think that.

In fact, he didn't _say_   that.

Octavian looked up and saw a young boy, a little older than he was—maybe a year or two—and blinked rapidly as he shielded his eyes from the sun's white glare. The boy's silhouette moved across the building's roof until he could make him out. He had fire-brown hair, startling hazel eyes, freckles like him and a wide mouth that stretched into a crooked smile.

The boy frowned, "What do you want?" The lanky blond squinted as he saw the boy raise his hand and do a waving motion—but not quite right...

A stone whizzed past his head, the wind catching his cheek as it flew past. The boy spun around and he was met by two boys about his age. One tall with a thin nose and long arms and the other fatter with small hands and big feet. They grinned at him, the fatter one had a stone in his hand, throwing it up and down slowly.

"Hey, _Gal_!" It was the boy on the roof calling down to him, "You think you can strut down these streets like you own them?" His voice was throaty, as if he had been screaming for years. Octavian could feel the hot air weigh down with the tense atmosphere. He called him a Gal...

This was not good.

Before Octavian could have a chance to answer, fatty and slim answered for him, "No! We own the streets!" They were just idle children, the blond rationalized. Idle children with stones in hand...

"Yeah!" Added slim. The brunets came closer.

Octavian dodged another stone and held up his hands, he hoped he didn't look as stupid as he thought he did: a scrawny boy blabbering gaelic words and bowing pathetically wasn't exactly his shining moment. He sincerely hoped at least one of those words meant, 'You are all pieces of horse-shit'.

Yes, that would have made his day.

But they kept throwing stones. Flint clinked as stone after stone connected with ground and asphalt. Octavian, tried to run for the alley he came from, but that was his mistake. A rock hit him in the back of the head and hot pain shuddered up his skull. As he fell, more stones were pelted at him, so writhing in pain, he covered his face and ribs as best as he could.

"Hey!" Stones clattered and chinked to the ground and the swift pitter patter of feet signaled an opportune moment of escape. So scrabbling to his wobbly legs he skid across the shifty earth of the dry pebble road and booked it. As fast as he could.

Loud stomps behind him alerted him that someone was behind him and catching up fast. He could swear he felt the stranger's fingers reaching out for the back of his collar. Suddenly a dark crevice appeared. A haven! The boy twisted mid-sprint, his body snaking along with the vertigo, and turned into another alley, hastily squeezing through the small cracks between the large mud-brick buildings. Dust crumbled into his eyes and mouth but he made it out.

He coughed and looked back, a smug smile carved into his pale face as he saw the image of two men arguing. The slit of a crack provided a limited view but it was enough to solicit a chortle from the boy. He clapped his hands as he brushed off the dirt and went his merry way down the new street.

He wrinkled his nose and squinted as he saw the sun glaring at him from above, it sat directly north of the temple on the elevated green hills that oversaw the small settlement.

Shaking his head he scanned the area speckled with nucleated clusters of mud-bricked high-rises, with windows seemingly cut out of them. If Octavian didn't know any better, they'd tumble down with age if not the shaking of earth. The buildings all strung up next to the roads and shed shade across the streets. It looked so crowded, he couldn't imagine what it would look like _with_ people.

Everyone was at the market—

Before he could even finish that thought, as his foot crunched on some gravel, he heard the cackles and giggles of a group. They were approaching him—or was he approaching them? He continued down the street. More people walked passed him, women with baskets and men with gold chains around their necks and permanent solemnity weighed heavily on their faces.

And cutting past, he swiftly turned a corner and saw it.

The spectacle and all its horrific glory.

In the streets, slaves were being paraded to the market. Some dark skinned, even black, the stark white of their eyes swiveled around nervously as they eyed the skittish crowd. All were young, but so different. Skinny, broad shoulders, stunt and heavy like oxen, others were mere children. Bound by rope, they marched. A scrawny one, lingering—no, struggling behind the rest crumpled. He was beaten. His scream of agony made him wince.

Octavian knew as well as anyone, that slaves that didn't get sold at the market would be thrown to the arenas. He averted his eyes and walked on. Slash after slash after slash, the young man's screams slowly escalated into high-pitched shrieks. The boy gritted his teeth.

_Just walk faster. Don't stop. Don't do this to yourself_.

Slash

_Please, get up._

Slash

_Ignore the pain._

More came, black whips in hand, unfurling like snakes let loose.

_Get up_.

The young boy raised the whites of his hands.

_Get up!_

A body in the dirt cowered and raised a trembling hand to the sky, to cover his face... He shook his head, his busted red lip stood out, the scarlet a blaring color in contrast to his dark skin. His tender flesh torn and loosely hung off his back. He couldn't even beg, his voice probably caught in his throat with the scream he was holding back. But they didn't care. They were late.

They were late for the market.

The whips came down.

"Hey!" The hands with whips froze mid-strike as they looked back, and then watched as a young pale boy appeared from behind their carts and stood with a dagger in hand. "Want to see a trick?"

Before any of the merchants could say anything, the boy took his dagger and drove the blade into the butt of a horse to his left, the reigns that connected it to the horse next to it slacked and then stretched and strained. _Slap!_ It tore and flicked the other horse, spooking it even more.

Octavian ducked and threw himself to the ground as the horses whinnied and threw their heads back. The grey dappled horse— who he stabbed— with large hooves bucked and went wild, and dragging his browner, more docile friend with him, he headed straight for the merchants. In their eyes was a fury and fear that crazed their black eyes. They tried to gallop with splintered wood planks hanging from their girth, pointing outward ready to stab someone.

Too late, the merchant realized how bad the situation was. One of them—the one with a blue belt wrapped around loose crème clothing and wooly black hair, his hazel eyes wide and bright—went to calm the horse. A big mistake. The dappled horse was moving at a speed that, no amount of soft words and treats would calm it down.

It blazed right ahead, knocking the man to the ground. The brown horse was running just as frantically, kicking and braying as panic overwhelmed the animal, the crowd blocked it's exits didn't help either. The two large work horses jittered and galloped in an unpredictable manner. Octavian smiled.

He loved unpredictability.

The wooden beam that connected the two work horses to the cart of goods split open, cracking loudly in the air it sent splinters flying. The crowd watched in growing interest. Then in horror. The cart that the slaves were marching behind tilted to the side precariously as one wheel gave in, then _clonk_ , the rest gave way. Fruits, wrapped goods, gold coin and other things spilled out and skittered across the dusty street.

The next thing Octavian knew, the road was in chaos. Women were screaming and running away from the scene, some ditching their baskets in the streets before they did so. Others made it quickly unto the lanes, ducking and dashing to the ground to sweep up the gold coin and free goods that littered the ground while the merchants brawled with the other thieves.

Crawling underneath all this wreckage, the boy made his way to the frightened slaves. They smelled of urine and stale horse-shit—well, not that he smelled any better either— some of them had cuts lacing their wrists where they were tied and only made it worse by struggling. Octavian licked the film of dirt that coated his lips and spat to his left. Looking at the strange people he saw how they looked at him.

Black eyes stared at him with distrust, so he grinned and showed them the blade. As he made quick work of the rope that held them captive, he could hear behind him the merchants taking notice. He cut faster.

Once free they all scattered, some limping and hopping, but eventually no one was left—save the one young man that had his back shredded by the whips. He was still on the ground, covering his head as more people ran to the street to grab what they could from the accident.

"Damn, rumors spread fast..." Octavian ran over to the boy and took him by the shoulder, he cried out, but the blond shushed him gently, "Come on." He helped him up, "Shh shh, yes, it's okay..." Ignoring the death threats and insults—what did his mother have to do with any of this?—he lead the slave boy into the shadows of the alley.

After a good few minutes, they both collapsed in the cool fine dirt that layered the hard earth of the passageway. Octavian flinched and realized that the wound on his hand that he had injured a few months ago re-opened. The thick hardened scab was lifting away from the soft flesh, blood ran down the crevice, through the middle of his hand. "Damn it." He didn't have any cloth to wrap it.

A quivering murmur caught his attention. Glancing to the boy he bit his lip. He shouldn't be the one complaining. He looked awful. One of the whips must have caught him in the face because right below his eye, adorning his cheek, was a deep gash. A slice in the swelling. It was bleeding and made it look like the kid was crying blood.

Octavian reached up to wipe it away but the child moved his head away quickly. With his eyes still on him, he breathed heavily. There was something haunting about how he was looking at him. How those dark eyes pierced him the way a bear, or a wolf sometimes could. "It's okay..." Still he was not trusted; the child's resistance to Octavian's help showed him that.

"At least let me free you." The dark eyes narrowed at him and Octavian sighed before pointing at the slave's fastened hands and then his dagger. Reluctantly, the child presented his hands and watched curiously as the pale blond cut the rope. When he was free he didn't move. He just sat there.

"Well...—" The sound of rushing feet startled both of them, but it was just some more people running to the streets a few minutes away. Probably coming to take what they could. "That got our hearts beating..." Octavian mumbled as he rubbed his nose and sniffed. Octavian got up and snuck over to the opening and peered out.

They were heading for the street alright.

Walking back he helped the boy up and took off his cloak, "Here," he couldn't ignore the lack of clothing anymore. It seemed most inappropriate. When he started to refuse by shaking his head and holding up his hands, Octavian insisted. He turned the boy around and placed the cloak over his shoulders, careful not to agitate the wounds any more.

"It... it gets cold here. At night... I mean" He hoped the others could find clothing some way or the other. "I guess you're from Africanus..." The child looked up at him when he spoke. He was speaking in his native tongue. The corners of his lips lifted just a bit. Octavian helped the kid out of the alley, all the while trying the figure out which place the child was from.

Persia had sent armies out to many nations, some were successful in capturing countries in the far south. So maybe the boy was from one of those place... Now that Rome was bearing down on the Greeks, maybe they were winning. Beating the Greeks, stealing their countries from underneath them and taking all their war trophies. Which included their slaves.

"Here." They had walked back to the place with the vacant water trough to get the boy cleaned. Taking a look in his cloak pockets, he searched the pockets until he found the small bag. He had ground a fist full of yellow root he had managed to get a hold of. Wetting it he rubbed it on the boy's tattered back, he hissed as he sucked air. "Shh," Octavian tried to be as gentle as possible, "I know... I'm sorry."

After he had cleaned the boy's wound he offered him the last of his bread. It wasn't much, but the child inhaled everything. Octavian put the cloak back on the boy. He was sleeping now. And when the blond really looked closely, the boy was very regal looking. His cheek bones were high, his face fit but slender, and fairly slanted eyes were very unusual. The only thing that seemed to fit the profile of his people was the full lips. The child's meager height suggested he was only eight, if not nine.

"Alright, rest." Octavian leant on the wall and allowed his eyes to close for a few minutes.

And a few minutes was all that his assailant needed.

"Rise and shine." Blue eyes flew open to see a sentry and one of the merchants—the one with the blue belt—looking over him. He swiftly looked to his side:

Gone.

Octavian's left eye twitch. The kid left him there sleeping?

He nearly laughed at how much he deserved this stupid fate. "Get up!" He was dragged to his feet, but the blond glared at the haughty merchant, "Come on!" Octavian was literally thrown out of the alley, he figured the force the sentry used would be used to chuck hay-bundles into carts. He was strong. Which only meant one thing.

This was going to take a little longer to escape. Luckily, he had his—

"Oh, and he has a dagger too!" Octavian sighed in frustration as the man searched, found, and took his dagger. He was going to slit that merchant's throat when he got the chance...

He wasn't getting out of this one easily, unfortunately.

And even worse. It looked like he was headed for the Far East of the city. Where the games were held in this big circular building, its walls white washed to glow in the sun.

It was called the Coliseum.

And Octavian hated the Coliseum.

 

 

 

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**Thanks for reading once again! I really hope that you liked it :)**   
**And if you did, then don't forget to give some KUDOS and COMMENT and tell me what you think!**

**Signing off,**   
**Amateur writer Dany!**

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	21. MARBLED STONE CITY

**CHAPTER 14: MARBLED STONE CITY**

 

"I hate the Coliseum," the boy grumbled underneath his breath. At the moment, he was severely pissed off to say the least, and he meant it.

The sentry that had arrested him and carried him—well, dragged him—off to the stupid big building, had jeered and cackled about his— and the rest of the re-captured slaves—unfortunate predicament. In the dirt streets, he was thrown forward and demanded to march with the slaves to the building. Octavian's eyes searched the dark downturned faces for him. That boy with the regal cheeks and slanted eyes.

Of course he was nowhere to be found.

Octavian huffed haughtily as he felt a chuckle leave his lips. He should have known better. Why did he even bother with this escapade? 'You should have just left them alone to march to the market...', he thought. And judging by the dirty looks he was getting from the men— and specifically the one right behind him with the scary scar running down into a bleached eye— they thought the same.

Now, because of him. Punishment was not enough. They were tyrants... Or at least 'Opposers of the Law'. And the sentry and merchant didn't mind making a game out of their lives. So the sentry accompanied that merchant with the blue belt and wooly black hair to the coliseum. Both remained silent on their way, strangely making little jokes to patch the awkward quiet that trailed behind them.

Octavian only wished that the coliseum wasn't so close. He could smell it from a mile away. The raw smell of piss and grit and irony blood that blew in his face and made him gag. The gust of chilled wind whipping in and about the road, and cooled the afternoon air. Snow may have been replaced with dirt and sand here in this city, but the air was still cold. Sand blinded him before the glare of the sun did.

As they approached in the rear of the building, Octavian caught glimpses of kids running up and down the sides of the entrance. Some of them broke off and ran to the back, one had a wide mouth that spread into a crooked grin —Octavian's eyes widened at the sight of the rusty brown hair that bounced as a boy jumped to catch sight of them.

The boy's excited smile wilted as he saw the ghoulishly pale boy glower at him. It was permeated with so much hatred. Octavian said something and he hoped the kid remembered it well into his adult years. The boy read his lips, "If I live. Your life I will take." As Octavian and the rest of the slaves were marched into the arch, the view of the terrified boy and the approaching figures of his child gang disappeared from sight.

They passed under a grand arch that glowed in its white glory from the sunlight that beat down on the slaves. In all of this, the child could only focus on the glaring dark red that coated the floor and made it sticky. There was a trail of it, clumping hay and dirt together in the smear. A man was being hauled to a cart they had just walked past a few minutes ago. Octavian winced when he heard the clunk of the body being flung in.

But he was dead.

There was no reason to worry about that man, after all, he wasn't going to suffer anymore. It was time to worry about himself, and how he was going to escape this. His mother was in the hands of dogs—Marcus was a questionable case, but Octavian classed him as one too. That man was as confusing as this damn city anyway. He could not stay here, much less waste any time. He had to figure out how to free his mother, and be free to do so.

Despite the rational thinking, the boy felt his cheeks streak with warm tears and he bowed his head with shame as his throat tightened. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been such a burden—his thoughts broke off with a rattling cough. He turned his head to the side before spitting the yellow-green slime to his left. If he hadn't been such a burden, his mother wouldn't have been to the market that day...

She wouldn't have met that idle Sentry.

The hay was wet here and there, the stone floor glistened with the bright light that poured through the opening of the Coliseum's Vomitariums (a place where the people entered and exited in such quantity that the building looked as if it were spewing them forth, thus the name apparently...).

This giant hallway had high ceilings and lead to the cut stone sets that rowed in the hundreds around the arena. Judging from the fresh scent of earth, the blond guessed that the place was just washed. The walls smelled of flint and pails were lined up near them. The slaves having must have taken a break a moment or two ago.

Octavian sighed, waiting in the cool of the shadow the large arches cast, until a gruff voice echoed under the vaulted arches. "Here." The marching line stopped and the blond—whom was preoccupied with searching the tall walls for the trap doors he always heard about— bumped into the slave in front. Sweat and grimy blood streaked his face. Hastily, he wiped it away and glanced up to meet a paralyzing angry gaze.

He tried to ignore it.

In fact, he tried to ignore all the glares, but at the moment, the men that were supposed to be watching them were paying the man with the blue belt and registering them in, or something. He was left alone in a lined area, with about thirteen to fifteen built men who were all angry at him. He swallowed and gave a skittish laugh.

Luckily the Sentries came back with some other guys, roughly shaved, wild look in one's eye, the other short and stalky with combed back hair and a chipper attitude that made Octavian's skin crawl. "There you all are! The outcasts of society..."

His friend with the python sized arms smiled and said, "Welcome to gladiator-town." Or at least, that's what Octavian translated it loosely as. Most of them spoke some sort of slang or divergent colloquial dialect of Latin.

It was the most annoying thing he had to get used to since they arrived at the city, that and the constant stench of shat that radiated from the gutters of the paved roads. It was a good thing they lived in the farming provinces back then.If all cities were like this, he couldn't tolerate it.

All Octavian could think of was the eminent danger he was putting himself in the longer he stayed here. The Sentries and merchant had long gone and left them with these two thugs to decide their fate. Octavian scowled when one of them—the one with the arms as thick as pythons—inspected him.

He grinned and pointed to the child, "How about this one?"

"That one's sickly lookin', the crowd might not enjoy a round with 'im and Invidum. It'll end too quick."

"Who says?" Octavian challenged viciously.

The two men looked at one another and laughed."I do, and I am sure my friend does too—", he glanced back and held back a grin, "If he wasn't bent double over laughing that is..." The stouter, shorter, man cleared his throat and straightened his back before turning to the blond.

"Kid," he nodded to Python-arms and he punched him in the gut, making the boy double over, "Word of advice." Octavian fought hard not to crumple to his knees and vomit, the water was springing up in his mouth. Warm and sour, he let it dribble form his mouth and breathed in deeply. Suddenly—but not surprisingly—his hair was yanked up so he could look at the man while he was talking to him.

"I make the decisions here." He jabbed a thumb to his chest, which Octavian noticed sported a golden chain, woven thickly with chain like linkages. Blue eyes eyed the creature with black jeweled eyes that hung from the chain by its front paws. "I say somethin' and it's law," the man continued.

The boy spat, and looking up he growled, tired of being told what to do, "Scheist—!" Before he could finish, Octavian was kicked in the stomach and left to hold the tender spot on the filthy ground. The wet cold floor pressed against his face and he shivered. When he forced himself up, the pressure built in his lower back, meaning someone was stepping on him again.

He finally snapped.

The boy kicked and screamed. His left leg made contact with python-arms when he approached. He howled and hopped on one leg. That's when the pressure subsided in Octavian's lower back. The blond quickly rolled out of the way from the coming onslaught of random attacks the two guys provided. When Octavian managed to get to his feet, they had spears.

"What, can't handle a scrawny pale thing like me?" He spat. The slaves behind him looked from the two armed men and the boy. Octavian's eyes caught a glimpse of one of the older men chained behind him giving him a look of disapproval. The one with the milky eye remained silent, others chatted in whispers and clicks as well as other words he couldn't translate.

"Shad-up! The lot a' yah!" Python arms circled Octavian after he yelled at the slaves. He turned to face him, and as expected, his partner charged behind him. He ducked and the powerful swing landed a hit on Python arms. Octavian took the opportunity to lead them closer to the wetter areas of the floor. They followed and both slipped and fell.

A skittering spear slid over to Octavian, but before he could actually use this. He heard the slaves making a fuss again. "What is--?" He turned around and his vision went black at the edges. He staggered back, gripping the left side of his head. Almost automatically the two goons had gotten up and threw him to the ground. His head was ringing with white hot pain that made his spine shiver.

His left ear rung loudly, so he didn't hear the command to get up. When Python-arms pulled him to his shaky feet, he saw his attacker. And most importantly... The person who he arrested. The guy was a lower-class Sentry. A trainee. And struggling against his grip, hands tied, chest bare and shoulders gashed, was the slave boy with the regal slender face and narrow eyes.

Octavian snarled and looked for a weapon, he had dropped the spear when he got hit in the back of his head. He guessed the Sentry had used the handle of his sword. The African's light clay-brown eyes and his icy-blue ones met. The blond was the first to speak, "YOU!" Light brown eyes widened.

 

 

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Hey guys, sorry for the wait, thank you so much for sticking with me!  
To all the silent readers, I really appreciate that you all have been sticking with this story up to this point. You all keep being awesome!

**Question of the week:** _"How hard have you guys been punched in the stomach before?"_

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	22. WHEN LIONS CACKLE

**CHAPTER 15: WHEN LIONS CACKLE**

 

 

Octavian snarled and looked for a weapon. He had dropped the spear when he got hit in the back of his head. He guessed the Sentry had used the handle of his sword. The African's light clay-brown eyes and his icy-blue ones met. The blond was the first to speak, "YOU!" Light brown eyes widened in horror.

The young African held up the white of his hands and shook his head as if to deny his identity. Octavian snarled at him, "You, little dog! Was it too much for you to wake me up when you heard the sentries approaching?! Huh? Speak!!" He lunged at the slave boy but was caught by the cuff of his loose shirt collar.

The man, who was holding him back roughly, threw him into the crowd of the slaves. Octavian landed like a cat and hissed at the rest who tried to help him up. He shot a glare at the man and stood up tall. He was done this this foolishness. He had wanted to avoid this all along, but noooo. He had to get himself into deeper trouble.

Eyeing the boy with disgust, the man who had punched him in his stomach on command, stayed put, rubbing his chin gingerly. The anger in the pale blond boy's eyes wasn't so short from madness, and he wasn't going to be the one to experience it firsthand. "Okay, we definitely need to get rid o' 'im."

Python rolled his hurt shoulder and cracked his neck. His partner's cheeks rippled as he nodded eagerly. The muscly man regarded the sentry that held the young African, "Cass!"

The sentry trainee straightened automatically, but his wheezy, crackly, voice faltered, "M-my name's... not Cass... Sir."

"Whatever. Just get this one," he pointed to Octavian, "And... the one you've got in your 'ands, an' throw 'em into the arena when the third-quarter bell rings." Python patted dirt off his brown tunic. His large fingers idly fondled that weird chain of his as he narrowed his eyes at Octavian.

"Oh boy, the crowd's gonna be bored out o' their damn minds when Invidum rips 'em to shreds..." Python's right hand man sighed and started rounding up the slaves, sorting them from young to old, from fit to scrawny. Tying their hands in chains. All so he could hand them over to the awaiting servants to get them ready for the fights in the next two weeks.

Octavian remembered that the coliseum had their short games every other week in the months leading up to some festival. The concept of criminals were apparently few and far in-between in Rome.

The city didn't have any.

Each man served for a cause. If you were a thief, but you weren't caught, odds are you were someone's accountant. And when you were caught—and it is a matter of when, not if— you were forced into slavery in order to prove your worth and your right to be called a roman citizen.

It's just too bad slaves got the all odd jobs, including being given the position of 'living props' to be slaughtered in games. If you couldn't fight, that is.

Struggling against the grip of the trainee sentry, whose name may or may not be Cass, the blond yelled in frustration, "Just let me go!" He didn't care to be a roman citizen. He didn't mind being a peasant, an ingrate, a beggar. He just wanted his mother back so they could finally leave for safety. This whole thing was his idea, and it had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

_'At least let me fix this!_ ,' the boy begged in his thoughts.

Cass' nervous reply really didn't match the brute strength he possessed. Especially when he squeezed both the slave boy and Octavian's arms so they would to stop struggling. "I-I can't! And you know that! Y-you both got yer-selves into this mess..."

"You can, just throw someone else in- O-or no one! Don't throw anyone in!" Octavian quickly started weaving a story. Something. Anything to get this guy to let him go. "You're a country-boy at heart. I know you don't like doing this!"

His heart started beating faster and faster as the Sentry-trainee hustled their asses down into the rackety wooden stairs into the bowels of the arena. Getting closer and closer to those low log-posts that served to dually mark the gate area on the other side of the room, and their place of death.

The area widened and expanded into small sections. It was dark, but dimly lit by candles, lanterns, and anything that produced an eerie murky light that literally screamed, 'Your death is nye'.

So what was in this dark place, you ask? Well, the dancing orange light played on the sweaty bodies of gladiators getting ready for their call to star-dom. The place was literally a dressing room, right below the sandy floor of arena above.

The wooden ceiling rumbled deafeningly and Octavian guessed that the chariot races where going on now. Ducking, he avoided a small stream of sand that leaked from above. He gulped loudly as he realized that the lion would be let out soon.

"Just let us go, no one would know!" Octavian forced himself into a skidding halt. Cass furrowed his brows and looked at him, and expression of stern confusion watered up to the surface. Octavian figured out that the man was basically a child at heart, not a stone-faced sentry with years of experience, like others. He needed to appeal to that gentler side of him.

"No, you guys are animals... Whatever you did before you got here is the reason you're here... I shouldn't be talking with you..." Cass moved them both away from the middle of the already narrow walkway as some gladiators passed by. They were painted, dressed, and ready to put on a show no one would ever forget. Even if they wanted to.

"Come on," you grew up helping animals grow. You took care of them!"

"... A-and then... we slaughtered them." The sentry pulled them across the dirt floor as he struggled to get moving again. Hauling struggling kids around must have been hard because he was honestly only moving a few inches per second.

Despite that, he continued. "We slaughtered them... and then we sold them in the market. And that sold meat would eventually be cooked and eaten those who might grow up and defend Rome someday."

Grunting in earnest as he struggled to drag us to our doom, he glanced down at the two boys. "Th-that was my role then—to provide food for the next generation. My role now is to defend Rome from people like you—enemies from the inside—now that my days of mindlessly taking from the city are over. I a-aim to give!"

Octavian sighed and just let himself be carried away. He hadn't stop listening to the guy's ramblings. Quite frankly, it was kind of cute how he saw things. The way he devoted himself to protecting his home by giving his all—even if it wasn't good enough (In comparison to other sentries, of course).

_It is that sort of dedication that I lacked back then... If I had only fought harder—even if I could only take out one soldier—maybe I could have helped instead of ran... Maybe my home would still be there._

Octavian thought of his city and scratched at his chest when it started to hurt. He pinched the flesh of his elbow hard as he stared at the soil that made up the floor. He was not going to cry. He might have been young, but this was not the time to cry.

"I-I really don't want to do this..." Octavian looked up and saw the sympathy in the sentry's eyes. Cass had stopped dragging the two boys closer to their doom for a few minutes—it might have been the line of four, or five gladiators, that had made him pause to let them pass that made him stop before noticing the blond's tears. But dragging two boys across a dirt floor isn't exactly light-weight lifting either.

Either way, Octavian was going to use the situation to his advantage.

He let his tears flow.

"Please... Just let us go." Watching the young man grow more and more uncomfortable was getting increasingly funny, but Octavian forced himself to remain in character. He was a sad village boy, who got into some unfortunate business. He only had to work it.

But then he laughed.

"I never seen before, such fake tears!" the boy cackled, his teeth almost white in the dark.

That slant eyed African boy had to freaking laugh. What was so funny? What could have possibly been so funny that he decided now was the time to shut his eyes tight, fling his head back, and laugh? The sentry grew serious again and cleared his throat to speak, but before he did, Octavian leapt from his grasp and tackled the slave boy and started pounding on him.

Maybe he could laugh at how perfectly my fist can connect to his damn jaw!

"H-hey! Hey stop that!" Cass barely managed to pull them apart, but when he did he rushed them over to the log-post gate. They turned a corner or two and ended up in a long corridor with carved holes sealed off by cut stone slabs that fit precisely into the rock wall.

"This is your fault! When I get my hands on your scrawny little neck, I will kill you!!" Octavian hollered. When the sentry had two gate-guardians open one, he tossed the African boy in first, his arms having been tied he didn't really put up much of a fight, and then a screaming, wriggling, Octavian.

He landed on the young slave boy who had just been successful in propping himself up into the sitting position. Both boys landed face down in the cool bone white sand. The hiss of stone rubbing against stone as the slab slid back into position gave Octavian chills. He rolled off of the boy, causing him to face-plant into the sand again, and ran over to the cool slab. Panting, he began to feel all over the smooth rock in search of an opening.

"So," the African boy dusted the sand out of his wooly black hair and smiled, "It is fault of my own, huh?"

Slowly Octavian got up and faced the young boy. "You can speak Latin?" His anger built up in his quivering voice.

The boy licked his lips and smiled nervously, "Now now," he started to back away from the quickly approaching pale boy, "I only know little bit."

Octavian was going to kill him.

He was going to take wrap his fingers around that boy's neck...

And kill him.

 

...Well, he was going to...

That was until they heard the squeak of an iron hinge as a small gate, hidden in the dim purple shadows, opened. There was silence, and then the cackling roar of a lion.

"Oh for the gods' sake!"

 

 

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_[ **This Week's Question:** 'What's your favourite animal? (mine's the grey wolf, thought that might be a little too obvious lol)]_  

(No more _inspiring quotes_ that lead me to doing this novel guys, I'm fresh out ^^)

**_Anyway, thanks for reading this week's chapter, really appreciate it!  
_ ** **_Don't forget to vote and comment!_ **

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	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 16: WREATH'S COLD GAME**

 

 

"So..." the African boy dusted the sand out of his wooly black hair and smiled sheepishly, "It is fault of my own, huh?"

Slowly Octavian got up and faced the young boy. "You can speak Latin?" His anger built up in his quivering voice.

The boy licked his lips and smiled nervously, "Now now," he started to back away from the quickly approaching pale boy, "I only know little bit."

Octavian was going to kill him. He was going to take wrap his fingers around that boy's neck...

And kill him.

...Well, he was going to.

That was until they heard the squeak of an iron hinge as a small gate, hidden in the dim purple shadows, opened. There was silence, and then the cackling roar of a lion.

"Oh for the gods' sake!"

Both the boys pressed their backs to the stone wall as the starved lion, its ribs protruding from its sides, snarled at them. Octavian didn't want to anger it. He just wanted to ward it off, so he kicked sand up every now and again to deter the creature.

He wasn't sure if he could call this irony, or not.

After hunting down and killing soldiers of a higher class, each death unique to the environment the soldier moseyed on into, a work of art almost, he was going to die by the paws of an animal, just because it was hungry. Not to mention the symbolic resemblance he had shed unto those dead soldiers, having been like lions in his eyes. Champions to their country.

And this meagre, thin, lion who didn't' like wasting energy chasing after them, was supposed to be his next opponent. He squeezed his eyes shut when the animal limped back and forth before lying down on its belly. Tears streaked his dirty cheeks and he gave a shaky sigh.

He and the African boy glanced at each other with relief awashed in their glistening eyes. But then anger took its place back into Octavian's eyes.

"You cannot blame me." The boy said with an exasperated whisper.

"Oh? And why not?" Octavian snarled back.

The lion growled lazily and the African shushed Octavian, holding his arm. When the immediate danger was gone, the boy grinned and patted the blond awkwardly, "You would have done same thing."

"No I wouldn't!"

"Yes you would, and you know it!"

"I think I would damn well know what I would do and what I wouldn't!" Octavian shouted.

"Well I think I know when I see boy who is sketchy." The African folded his arms and gave Octavian this look that made his blood boil.

"Sketchy?!" The blonde shoved the kid, " _Sketchy_? You think I looked _sketchy_?" His eyes grew wide with rage, and his voice grew louder, "Oh, so the line of marching black people, didn't look sketchy? What? Should I have left you guys alone? Yes, that's what I should have done! Ignored the marching slaves and leave them to their obvious doom--" Octavian threw up his hands, "Maybe I wouldn't be in this mess, I'd be out there in the crowd watching you bust your butt trying to survive, for _fun_!"

As soon as he had said this, he regretted it. The African boy's face no longer held that playful look. He was glaring at him, those dark eyes piercing him with unfathomable anger. Not hatred, Octavian noticed, just anger. He looked away and the blond grabbed his wrist.

When he tried to pull away, Octavian made him face him, "I'm sorry." He spoke before the boy could yell at him. "I'm... That was stupid of me to say," Octavian let the boy's wrist go and watched as it fell limp to his side. Sighing into his hands he shook his head slowly, "You must understand. How it feels to be betrayed."

"You damn right."

The pensive answer was cold and made the boy cringe, even though he knew was expecting it. "You could have done worse..." The shuffle of sand indicated that the African was walking away—a quick snarl dripping with hostility made sure to rush the boys back up to the wall. Together again, but scared out of their wits. The lion was not to be ignored.

Soon the silence became too heavy. Too unfinished. "What did you mean, when you said I could have done worse?" The dark skinned boy asked.

"... You could have stabbed me..." Octavian proposed.

"True."

Octavian took a deep breath and rested his head back on the cool stone wall; staring up at the shadows of the ceiling made him dizzy, but it helped him think.

"You gone quiet, again..."

"You _want_ me to talk?" Octavian asked, raising his brow.

"... I rather your voice than the lion's."

"Can't argue with that logic." Raising his hand in front of his face, the boy studied it and how dim the light was getting. "The light that's in here isn't being cast by a torch..."

"How you know?" He asked.

"Um..." Octavian blinked, "I know Latin isn't your first language, but could you stop leaving out words...?

Silence.

"Please?" Octavian pleaded, "It is driving me nuts."

There was a sigh and then the soft ruffle of stiff clothes, "Okay... But only if you don't try and..."

"Get you back for leaving me alone, and not saying a word to me when you left?" The blond asked.

"Yeah."

Octavian nodded, "Sure."

The lion got up again and both of the boys froze when it approached. This time the African kicked up some sand, and belching out a warning roar, raspy but quite effective, the large cat bounded out of the way and bared its huge teeth at them.

It wasn't going to back off that easily anymore.

"How did you know?!" The African prompted.

"What?" Octavian took a quick glance at the boy, "Uh-oh! Light from a torch doesn't fade this slowly. Look," he pointed to a stencil of orange-red light that glowed around the edge of the wall that they were pressed against. "The opening is right there... And," Reaching to his side he felt the crease and scraped away some crust with his finger, "Air flows through here. Air current doesn't flow unless it's from breeze."

"And Breeze... come from outside?"

"Shouldn't you know this?" Octavian asked quizzically.

"What, because I am from Africa, I know nature and all _Her_ tricks?"

Octavian noticed he sounded insulted and snorted, "Yes. I assumed your parents would have taught you something."

"Well... my parents didn't teach me anything but _hierarchy_."

The lion interrupted their little chat and pounced. Both kids screamed and dodged. The cat came fully prepared with claws and teeth. The two boys had literally nothing to their disposal. Octavian distanced himself from the lion, keeping it in between him and the African. "Wait, do you hear something?"

"You mean the lion? Yeah, they do that!" The child said angrily.

"No... Like--like grinding." The stone wall was rubbing against the edges, making a raspy hiss as they slid against each other. And as the smooth rock was pulled up, light flooded into the dark room. It was only then that Octavian realized how dark it was.

Bright orange light filled the chamber and shot through his eyes like pins; Octavian suddenly covered his eyes from the blinding light and squinted. He stood in front of the square opening in the room, he stepped up, crossing the threshold, from hay and dirt to brown gritty sand. "Hey—"

"Get out, _move_!" The African boy shoved the blonde into the opening. When they both ran out, they realized how wide it the floor of the arena was. (It was as big as a small field!)

And then they realized the crowd.

Their cheering was like an ocean of yelling, first a trickling wave and then it all merged into one mighty call. It shook him to his bones.

_Or maybe, I'm really trembling..._

Before his brain could clamor for an answer, a loud sound made both the boys spin around in their spots. The lion was out, but now, treading the edges of the arena, were his friends. His much healthier, well fed, friends.

"Wh-what are we gonna do?" Stuttered the African boy, "We're going to die... Aren't we...?" Octavian noticed how his own hands shook and clenched them. That didn't stop them from shaking, but it took back some of the power that the suffocating fear he felt had taken away from him.

He found himself whisper, "Say, what is your name?"

"What?!" The young boy flashed his alarmed mud-brown eyes over to Octavian's way.

"What is your name?"

"... Nexus..." Octavian looked at the African boy and shook his head.

"That means, _bondage of debt_. When you finally remember your name, I would love it, if you would one day tell me." Standing in the middle of the arena, another slave in rags was being dragged towards them by decorated gladiators. The blond readied himself as much as he could mentally for this nightmare.

Nexus swallowed loudly, tears trailing down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a shaky smile, "We do not have one more day." The lions were closing the circle, the weaker scrawnier ones at the back while the strongest one—large black mane, hulking powerful body and bright amber eyes—

_That one... That one with the old look in its bright eyes, is probably Invidum... The one Python-arms and his partner was talking about._  

It moved close but passed by. With each powerful stride it made, Octavian could see the huge muscles that moved that feline monster, and as it eyed both him and Nexus with its predatory eyes, Octavian could clearly see how it earned the name _Invincible (Invidium)_.

He felt Nexus touch his arm gently, "Are you not afraid?"

Looking back at the young man, Octavian pursed his lips at the sight of his weakness. At the sight of his fear. It disgusted him and made his chest squeeze tightly for some reason.

_No. Not for some reason... This happened before... It always happens when I see someone afraid..._

_Why?_

A small dead-pan chuckle left the African's full lips, "It's going to hurt," Blue eyes caught how the boy's other hand crimpled his shirt, balling it into his sweaty fist, as if he could feel the claws of the lions sinking into his flesh already. Octavian observed silently as he flinched when the hungry felines roared and cackled gruffly directly behind them. "It going to hurt... Really bad..."

It seemed almost unreal. The coliseum, the lions, the afternoon sun.

The cheering impatient crowd.

Even as Nexus sobbed, Octavian perceived everything as motion drawn on to a crawl. The sound warped around him and he suddenly felt so alone.

But not afraid.

His heart beat hard in his chest, like drums, but he didn't feel afraid.

The gladiators closed in, shooing the lions aside and threw down one slave, who only groaned in response as he hit dirt. Farther up one gladiator tossed a younger one aside. That one feistily swung his fist but was kicked back into the sand. Octavian flinched, 'That looked painful,' he thought.

Nexus stepped back to stand closer to the blond as the men approached them. But despite expecting a confrontation, they left straight after flinging down a few ricky-dink weapons in disgust. When one of the gladiators raised both his hands to the crowd, the spectators all went completely mad with applause and hoots.

And the lions began to close in again, this time their aim was to kill.

_It has begun._

Looking up against the harsh orange glare of the sun that seemed to sit, crest, on the edge of the coliseum's very top seat, almost forming a wreath, the boy forced a smile on his face and looked back, "Nexus?"

Mud-brown eyes glanced his way, glinting with tears and filled to the brim with nerve-wracking fear, but still coherent it seemed. Octavian nodded to him, "I am not without fault. Without will. Without fear..."

The blond took a spear for himself and put a sword into Nexus's trembling hands and forced his fingers to close around them as he looked him in the eyes, "But do not—I pray—call me a coward."

The more sluggish slave—Octavian noticed that his head was shaved and a fresh burn mark was singed into his flesh on the back of his neck—stood up picked up a sword as well, his face gaunt as he looked at Octavian with an odd mix of resentment and hopelessness.

But what really made Octavian cement himself to this reality, to the present situation, was the acknowledgement that shone through the murky depths of the stranger's strangely familiar copper brown eyes. He spoke in a raspy voice, phlegm rattling at the back of his throat, "Well you're a sight for sore eyes." A smirk stretched across the man's lips in an annoying way.

It was then Octavian's eyes widened in shock, "Phillip?!" The boy exclaimed.

 

 

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 _[ **This Week's Question:** 'What do you think I should put in this small section that could make things more interesting for you all? Should I have an 'Ask about the Author's' section, or a random facts thing about me?]_

**Anyway, thanks for reading this week's chapter, really appreciate it!**   
**Don't forget to leave a kudos and comment! ;3**  
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